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'A  "N  ''snjDjXj      " 


ONOR 

ERMANN  SUDERMANN 


I'^fTIKL  FRENCH",  28-30  West  38th  St.,  New  York 


HONOR 


A  piay  in  JFour  Acta 


BY 

HERMANN  SUDERMANN 

/// 


Translated  By 

HILMAR  R.  BAUKHAGE 

With  a  Preface  By 
BARRETT  H.  CLARK 


Copyright,  1915.  By  SAMUEL  FRENCH 


New  York 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-80   WEST   38th  5TREET 


London 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Ltd. 
26  Southampton  Strebt 

STRAND 


HONOR 


The  French  expression,  a  "  man  of  the  theater," 
is  best  exemplified  in  the  person  of  the  German 
dramatist  Hermann  Sudermann.  The  term  is  in- 
tended to  convey  the  idea  of  a  playwright  who  is 
interesting  and  effective,  one  who  is,  in  short,  mas- 
ter of  his  trade.  The  author  of  "  Die  Ehre,"  which 
is  here  presented  for  the  first  time  to  English  read- 
ers, was  for  many  years  a  man  of  the  theater  in  the 
strictest  acceptance  of  the  term. 

Hermann  Sudermann  was  born  at  Matziken, 
Prussia,  in  1857.  After  receiving  his  prelimi- 
nary scholastic  training  in  his  native  province,  he 
attended  the  Universities  of  Konigsberg  and  Berlin 
and  immediately  after  his  graduation  from  the  latter 
institution  entered  the  field  of  journalism.  His  first 
works  were  short  stories  and  novels,  of  which 
"  Dame  Care,"  "  Regina,"  and  "  The  Song  of 
Songs  "  are  the  best  known.  German  critics  and  the 
German  reading  public  are  inclined,  of  late  years,  in 
view  of  Sudermann's  repeated  failures  in  the  field 
of  drama,  to  place  his  fiction  on  a  distinctly  higher 
plane  than  his  plays,  and  it  is  true  that  much  of 
the  finer  intelligence  of  the  man  has  gone  to  the 
making  of  his  better  novels.  However,  the  earlier 
plays  exerted  an  influence  so  widespread  and  are  of 
such  unquestioned  intrinsic  value,  that  there  is  some 
question  as  to  the  ultimate  disposition  of  the 
laurels. 


4  HONOR. 

"  Honor  "  was  published  in  book  form  in  il 
the  year  before  the  founding  of  the  famous  "  Freie 
Buhne,"  or  "  Free  Theater,"  which  was  to  usher  in 
and  nourish  modern  German  ReaHsm.  It  was  first 
produced  in  1890. 

While  Sudermann  was  not  properly  speaking  a 
member  of  the  new  movement,  his  early  works, 
"  Honor  "  in  particular,  were  shaped  by  and  served 
partially  to  create  the  ideas  which  the  founders  of 
the  "  Freie  Buhne,"  Arno  Holz  and  Johannes 
Schlaf,  had  formulated.  But  a  closer  inspection  of 
"  Honor,"  of  "  The  Destruction  of  Sodom," 
"  Magda,"  and  "  The  Joy  of  Living,"  leads  us  to  the 
conclusion  that  Sudermann  was  playing  with  the 
Naturalistic  formula,  using  it  as  a  means  rather 
than  an  end.  One  example  will  suffice:  Arno  Holz 
invented  the  phrase  "  Sequential  Realism,"  by  which 
he  meant  the  chronological  setting  dow^n  of  life  in 
as  m.inute  and  truthful  a  manner  as  possible.  He 
aimed  at  the  photographic  reproduction  of  life;  that 
process  he  called  "  art  re-making  nature."  In  his 
own  plays,  above  all  in  "  Die  Familie  Selicke,"  writ- 
ten in  collaboration  with  Schlaf,  his  skill  in  noting 
details,  his  quest  for  truth  at  all  costs,  lent  a  de- 
cided air  of  actuality  to  the  work,  and  the  appear- 
ance was  what  Sudermann,  who  was  more  of  an 
artist  than  the  pair  of  young  revolutionists,  strove 
to  imitate.  After  all,  Suderm.ann  is  little  more 
than  a  surface  Realist,  for  he  incorporated  only 
what  seemed  to  him  valuable  in  the  new  formulas. 
Sudermann  is  the  lineal  descendant  of  Augier,  Du- 
mas fils  and  Sardou ;  he  introduced  into  Germany 
a  new  manner  of  combining  much  that  was  good  of 
the  conventional  and  some  that  would  prove  bene- 
ficial of  the  Realistic  ideas.  The  long  speeches  of 
Trast,  the  numerous  asides,  the  more  or  less  conven- 
tional exposition,  the  rather  rhetorical  style  of  the 
dialog,  are  reminiscent  of  the  mid-century  French 
dramatists,  while  the  carefully  observed  types,  the 


HONOR.  5 

attention  paid  to  detail,  the  occasionally  realistic 
language,  are  indicative  of  the  new  spirit  which  was 
about  to  manifest  itself  in  so  concrete  a  form  as 
the  "  Freie  Buhne." 

"  Honor  "  is  clearly  a  thesis  play :  it  aims  at  the 
presentation  and  consideration  of  an  idea,  a  prob- 
lem, and  the  problem  is  that  which  arises  when  one's 
individual  principles  are  at  variance  with  those 
laid  down  in  a  conventional  society.  In  Germany 
"  honor "  is  not  so  much  a  personal  matter  as  a 
fixed  code  applicable  to  situations,  and  an  indi- 
vidual who  finds  himself  in  a  certain  situation  must 
have  recourse  to  the  code,  not  his  own  convictions. 
Sudermann  in  this  play  sets  himself  the  task  of 
opposing  the  current  conception  of  honor,  and  in 
Trast's  mouth  he  places  what  arguments  he  wishes 
to  have  advanced.  Trast  is  what  the  French  call 
the  "  raisonneur  " :  he  who  reasons.  This  method 
is  a  very  direct  but  rather  bald  one,  as  the  audi- 
ence is  likely,  nowadays  at  least,  to  resent  a  preacher 
who  is  only  too  obviously  doing  his  duty.  It  pre- 
fers the  method  followed  by  another  very  skilful 
writer  of  thesis  plays,  Brieux,  who  in  his  "  Red 
Robe  "  allows  the  thesis  to  unfold  itself  before  the 
eyes  of  the  spectators  rather  than  permit  a  raison- 
neur "  to  expound  his  personal  ideas.  But  in  Suder- 
mann's  day  the  technic  of  the  drama  was  not  so  far 
advanced  as  it  was  twelve  years  later,  when  the 
French  dramatist  was  able  to  employ  means  to  his 
end  which  were  artistic  in  the  highest  degree. 

Yet  Sudermann  always  lacked  the  sincerity  and 
earnestness  of  Brieux,  for  he  considered  the  play 
primarily  as  a  means  to  tell  a  story  in  as  effective 
a  manner  as  possible.  Brieux's  purpose  has  always 
been  to  expose  a  state  of  affairs  and  argue  about  it. 
As  a  consequence,  Sudermann  never  fell  into  the 
error  of  allowing  the  thesis  to  overshadow  the  play. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  became  with  years  less  and 
less  didactic,  and  took  good  care  that  his  later  plays 


6  HONOR. 

should  be  free  of  encumbering  theses,  so  that  now 
his  desire  to  please  the  unthinking  public  has 
brought  him  near  to  artistic  bankruptcy. 

Sudermann  is  clearly  a  man  whose  best  work  is 
over.  "  Honor  "  led  dramatists  to  treat  the  theater 
more  seriously,  it  taught  them  to  construct  plays 
with  a  story,  and  showed  that  a  thesis  play  is  not 
necessarily  a  "  conversation  " ;  his  attention  to  de- 
tail instilled  a  desire  for  greater  truthfulness  in  the 
delineation  of  character.  "  Honor  "  and  its  imme- 
diate successors  present  a  series  of  pictures  of 
lower,  middle,  and  upper  class  German  society  of 
the  day  which  are  and  will  in  the  future  prove  of 
great  value  for  the  student  of  the  times  and  of  the 
drama. 

BARRETT  H.  CLARK. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

Councillor  of  Commerce  Muhlingk 

Am ALiE His  wife 

J^URT        )        xheir  children 

Leonore  ) 

LoTHAR  Brandt 

Hugo  Stengel 

Count  Von  Trast-Saarberg 

Rorert  Heinecke 

Old  Heinecke 

His  Wife 

^;;^^^^^  I    Their  daughters 

MiCHALSKi A  joiner,  Auguste's  husband 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  .  .The 
Gardener's  wife 

WiLHELM A  servant 

Johann Coachman 

Indian  Servant  of  Count  Trast 


'  In  Muhlingk' 5  service 


The  action  takes  place  in  the  vicinity  of  Charlot- 
tenburg,  now  a  part  of  Berlin. 


HONOR 


ACT  I. 

Scene: — A  room  in  Heinecke's  house — The  cheap, 
lower  middle-class  decorations  and  tawdry  fur- 
nishings are  in  sharp  contrast  with  two  silk-up- 
holstered arm-chairs,  which  are  covered  during 
the  first  part  of  the  act — and  a  large  gilded  mir- 
ror. A  chest  of  drawers  and  several  shelves 
are  covered  with  various  worn  articles  of 
household  use.  To  the  right  of  the  spectator, 
below  the  traditional  German  sofa,  is  a  table 
with  a  coffee  service.  To  the  left  is  a  long, 
rough-hewn  work-table ;  upon  it  are  pieces  of 
cardboard,  a  pile  of  cardboard  boxes  and  a 
large  paste-pot.  Beside  the  table  is  a  work- 
stool. 

(Frau  Heinecke  is  busily  engaged  in  cleaning  the 
room.  Frau  Hebenstreit  stands  on  the 
threshold  of  the  door  to  the  left. ) 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  So  it's  really  true? — Your 
son  is  home? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Sh!  sh! — for  the  Lord's  sake 
— he's  asleep ! 

Frau  Hebenstreit.    There  is  Alma's  bedroom? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Yes! — I  don't  know  what  I'm 
about! — I'm  actually  dizzy  from  joy!  (Drops  into 
the  work-stool) 

9 


lo  HONOR. 

Frau  Hebenstkeit.  Do  the  folks  on  the  avenue 
know  about  it  yet  ?  * 

Frau  Heinecke.  He  had  to  report  to  'em  to-day 
because  they're  his  boss.  To-morrow  he'll  make  the 
visit. 

Frau  Hebenstkeit.  How  long  has  he  been  gone, 
anyway  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Seven— eight — nine  and  a  half 
years.  It's  as  long  as  that  since  I've  seen  my  boy ! 
{She  sobs) 

Frau  Hebenstkeit,  And  did  you  recognize  him 
right  off? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Well,  how  should  I  ?  Last 
night  about  eight — Heinecke  was  half  asleep  over 
the  Lokal  Anzeiger,t  and  I'm  sitting  there  sewing 
a  lace  hem  on  Alma's  underwaist, — that  girl's  al- 
ways got  to  have  something  new  for  her  underwear ! 
— Well,  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  knock,  and  a 
man  come  in,  and  Lord  save  us  if  there  didn't  stand 
a  gentleman,  a  fine  gentleman  in  a  beaver  coat — 
there  it  hangs ! — just  feel  that  beaverskin  once ! — I 
thought  to  myself :  it's  one  of  Alma's  swell  ac- 
quaintances, one  of  young  Herr  Kurt's  friends 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  {Listening  attentively) 
Ah 

Frau  Heinecke.  For  they  ain't  too  stuck  up  to 
come  around  and  see  us  poor  folks  on  the  alley — 
Well,  as  I  was  saying,  he  throws  his  hat  and  coat  on 
the  floor — a  real  top  hat — right  down  on  the  floor, 
mind  you ! — and  he  gets  right  down  on  his  knees  in 
front  of  me — well,  I  thought  I  was  losing  my  mind, 
but  when  he  calls  out :  "  Mother,  Father,  don't  you 
know  me  ? — It's  me,  Robert,  your  son  Robert  " - 

•Certain  German  hou.ses  are  divided  into  two  parts  the 
so-called  "  Hinterhau.s  "  and  "  Vorderhaus.  "  The  "  Vor- 
derhaua "  (translated  roughly  "on  the  avenue")  is  the 
larf<er  part  and  usually  belong-s  to  the  owner.  The 
"  Hlnterhaus  "  (rendered  "on  the  alley")  is  a  few  rooms 
opening  on  an  alleyway  or  court  v/hose  occupants  some- 
times act  in  the  capacity  of  caretakers,  but  who  often 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  people  in  the  Vorderhaus 
and  hardly  consider  themselves  on  a  plane  with  the 
richer    family's    servants. — Tr. 

tA   newspaper. — Tr. 


HONOR.  II 

Well,  Frau  Hebenstreit,  it  was  just  too  good  to  he 
true!    I'll  never  get  over  it !     (She  cries) 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  Don't  get  excited,  neighbor; 
the  pleasure  won't  last !  Every  rat  has  a  head  and 
tail — and  a  rat's  tail  is  poison,  they  do  say. 

Frau  Heinecke.  How  can  you  say  a  thing  like 
that !    My  son  is  a  good  son,  a  fine  son. 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  Too  fine,  Frau  Heinecke! 
When  a  person's  been  traveling  around  in  all  them 
foreign  lands  and  living  in  silks  and  satins 

Frau  Heinecke.  He  can  have  all  that  here — 
(Indicating  the  silk  upholstered  chairs) 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  (With  a  grimace)  Yes, 
yes,- — but  whether  he  will  or  not 

Frau  Heinecke.  Whether  he  will  or  not,  Frau 
Hebenstreit !  A  mother's  heart  don't  reckon  with 
rank  and  society  ! — And — Good  Lord !  Here  I  am 
a-standing — Where  on  earth  can  Heinecke  be? 
Have  you  seen  Heinecke  ? — The  way  he  has  to  hob- 
ble along  with  his  lame  leg! 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  I  saw  him  standing  outside 
with  a  sign  as  big  as  all  outdoors,  drying  his  sign  he 
said — and  the  thermometer  at  thirty  above  zero ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Let  the  old  man  enjoy  himself. 
He  was  working  on  that  sign  half  the  night. 
Couldn't  sleep  a  wink — neither  of  us — we  was  so 
happy 

(Heinecke  enters,  limping,  with  a  huge  placard. 
One  of  his  arms  is  stiff.) 

Heinecke.    Hurrah  !    Now  we've 

Frau  Heinecke.    Will  you  be  still! 

Heinecke.  (Reading  the  placard)  "  Welcome, 
beloved  son,  to  your  father's  house."    Fine,  eh  ? 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  Looks  for  all  the  world  like 
a  target  I 

Heinecke.  With  a  heart  in  the  middle!  You 
old—! 


12  HONOR. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Hold  your  tongue! — {To  Frau 
Hebenstkeit)     You  know  how  he  is! 

(Heinecke  takes  a  hammer  and  tacks  and  climbs  on 
chair  to  tack  up  the  placard.) 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  I  wonder  where  your  son 
got  all  his  fine  manners  anyway?  Not  from  his 
family,  did  he? 

Frau  Heinecke.  No,  nor  mine  either.  It  was 
seventeen  years  ago,  when  our  boss  on  the  avenue 
got  his  title  of  Councillor  of  Commerce- — there  was 
a  great  time:  carriages  and  fireworkings  and  free 
beer  for  all  the  workmen  in  the  factory.  Well, 
my  husband  was  a  little  bit  full — and  why  not? — 
Pa,  quit  pounding !  when  it  didn't  cost  nothing  ? 
Well,  one  of  the  carriages  run  over  him, — broke  his 
leg  and  his  arm ! 

Heinecke.  (Standing  on  the  stool)  Talking 
about  me?  Yes,  that  wasn't  no  joke,  neither! 
{Whistles) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Don't  whistle!  The  folks  in 
front  can  hear  that  from  the  balcony,  and  they'll 
send  round  to  find  out  what's  the  matter  with  our 
family  affairs ! — And  the  boss  w^as  so  tickled  over 
his  new  title,  that  he  was  feelin'  free  with  his 
pocket-book  and  he  promised  to  take  care  of  us  and 
give  our  oldest  an  education. 

Frau  Hebenstreit.    And  did  he  stick  to  it? 

Heinecke.     {Working)    Ah,  there! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Couldn't  've  done  better! 
They  gave  us  a  place  here  on  the  alley,  where,  thank 
God,  we  still  are,  and  they  sent  Robert  off  to  the 
school  where  he  got  his  learning.  And  when  he 
came  back  home  on  his  vacations,  he  was  always 
invited  over  on  the  avenue  to  drink  chocolate  with 
whip-cream, — on  purpose  to  play  with  the  little 
Miss.  Young  Herr  Kurt  was  still  sucking  a  rubber 
nipple  then. 


HONOR.  13 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  That  was  all  before 
Alma —  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  (More  quietly)  What  do  you 
mean  by  that? 

Frau  Hebenstreit.    Aw,  nothing,  I 

Frau  Heinecke.  And  then  afterwards  they  sent 
him  to  Hamburg  to  learn  about  the  foreign  busi- 
ness, you  know — and  when  he  was  seventeen  off  he 
goes  to  India,  where  they  say  it's  so  outlandish  hot ! 
The  Councillor's  nephew  is  out  there.  He's  got  a 
big  coffee  and  tea  plantation  ! 

Heinecke.  It  grows  out  there  just  like  daisies 
do  around  here !  (Gets  down  from  the  stool)  Fine, 
eh? 

Frau  Heinecke.  And  he  got  along  pretty  well 
out  there,  and,  Lord,  here  he  is  home  again  and  I 
stand  around  and 

Frau  Hebenstreit.  I'm  a-going.  Good-bye, 
and  don't  forget  the  poison  in  the  rat's  tail ! 
(Aside)  It's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish!  (She  goes 
out) 

Heinecke.     She's  an  old  poison-toad  herself ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Jealousy — jealousy — jealousy! 

Heinecke.  Well !  Where  did  you  get  the 
pound-cake ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  The  cook  brought  it,  with  the 
compliments  of  the  Miss, 

Heinecke.  (Turning  away)  What  comes  from 
the  avenue  don't  interest  me !  The  boy  must  have 
had  enough  sleep  by  this  time.  The  factory  whistle 
will  blow  for  the  second  lunch*  in  a  minute! 
(Looking  lovingly  at  the  placard)  "  Welcome,  be- 
loved son — =-" 

FitAU  Heinecke.    (Suddenly)    Father,  he's  here! 

Heinecke.    Who  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.    Our  boy! 

•The  German  workman  is  allowed  time  In  the  middle 
of  the  morning  for  a  light  lunch  which  tides  hlra  over 
from  his  coffee  and  rolls  to  the  more  substantial  dinner 
at   noon. — Tr. 


14  HONOR. 

Heinecke.  {Pointing  to  placard)  We're  ready 
for  him ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Shh !  I  heard  something! 
(Listening)  Yes,  I  told  you!  He's  putting  on  his 
shoes.  When  I  think  of  it !  There  he  is  a-sitting 
puttins^  on  his  shoes,  and  in  a  minute  he'll  come 
through  this  door 

Heinecke.  All  I'll  .say  is:  "Welcome,  beloved" 
— did  you  put  some  of  that  swell  soap  of  Alma's  on 
his  washstand? 

Frau  Heinecke.  And  how  many  times  have  I 
set  here  and  thought  to  myself :  has  he  even  got 
a  decent  bed  under  him? — and — and— have  the 
savages  eaten  him  up  already?  And  now  all  of  a 
sudden  here  he  is,  Father — Father  we've  got  him 
again !    May  the  luck  keep  up ! 

Heinecke.  Look  here  a  minute — does  this  look 
all  right? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Quiet ! — He's  coming.  Your 
tie's  slipped  up  again !  I'm  ashamed  of  you ! 
(Smoothes  the  cover  of  the  arm-chair)  Lord,  how 
nervous  I  am ! 

(Robert  bursts  into  the  room  and  runs  to  kis  par- 
ents, who  stand  stiffly  before  him,  embarrassed. ) 

Robert.  Good  m.orning,  Father! — Good  morn- 
ing, Mother!  (He  embraces  his  mother  and  repeat- 
edly kisses  her  hand)  I  am — absolutely — inhu- 
manly— happy ! 

Heinecke.  "  Welcome,  beloved  son  " — (As 
Robert  bows  over  his  hand  he  rubs  it  on  his  trous- 
ers)   You're  going  to  kiss  my  hand  ? ! ! 

Robert.    Certainly,  if  you'll  let  me! 

Heinecke.  (Extending  his  hand)  Now  you  can 
see  what  a  good  son  he  is ! 

Robert.  (Looking  about)  And  here  is  where  I 
once — I  hardly  know — is  it  really  possible  ? — Or  am 
T  actually  dreaming  still  ?  That  would  be  too  bad — 
Oh, — and  the  homesickness  ! — Lord  in  heaven,  that 
homesickness! — Just  think!     You  sit  out  there  at 


I 


HONOR.  15 

night  in  some  corner,  and  everything  you  have  left 
appears  about  you,  hving ; — mother,  father, — the 
court,  the  garden,  the  factory — and  then  all  of  a 
sudden  you  see  the  long  palm  branches  waving  over 
you,  or  a  parrot  screams  in  the  distance  and  you 
come  to  yourself  and  realise  that  you  are  all  alone 
at  the  other  end  of  the  world  !    Brrr ! 

Heinkcke.  Parrots  ?  That  must  be  nice  I  Here 
only  the  rich  folks  can  have  'em ! 

Robert.  Yes,  and  if  you  only  knew  how  I  wor- 
ried these  last  years,  and  even  on  the  journey  home, 
for  fear  I  shouldn't  find  everything  the  way  my 
longing  had  painted  it ! 

Heinecke.     Why? 

RoRERT.  There  was  a  man — otherwise  a  dear 
friend,  my  best  friend,  too — who  tried  to  prepare 
me  for  disappointment.  You  have  become  foreign, 
he  said,  and  you  shouldn't  try  to  put  together  what 
Fate  has  separated  so  long  ago — Heaven  knows 
what  else  he  said — and  I  was  almost  afraid  of  him, 
and  you,  and  myself  too!  Thank  God  that  doesn't 
bother  me  any  more;  every  single  thing  has  come 
out  as  I  hoped !  Everything  I  had  imagined  for  ten 
years  is  exactly  as  I  expected — there  is  Father — 
there's  Mother,  sweet  and  simple  and  {Tenderly)  a 
bit  of  a  chatterbox !  {Stretching  himself)  But 
what  are  these  two  young  arms  for?  Just  watch! 
They've  learned  to  make  money ! — And  the  sisters 
will  soon  be  ready  too !  Just  see ! — And  here  is 
father's  old  paste-pot — {Strokes  the  paste-pot) 
And  my  confirmation  certificate— framed !  And  the 
machineiy  makes  the  same,  dear  old  noise ! 

FkAu  Heinecke.  You  never  slept  a  wink  on 
account  of  that  old  machine — eh?  It  bumps  and 
bangs  the  whole  night! 

Robert.  I  was  never  sung  to  sleep  by  a  sweeter 
lullaby,  Mother.  When  I  was  almost  asleep  I  kept 
saying:  snort  if  you  want,  puff  if  you  like,  you  old 
horse !    Keep  at  it,  but  work  as  you  will  while  I  am 


i6  HONOR. 

lying  here  in  bed,  yon  can't  do  anything  for  the 
glory  of  the  house  of  Muhlingk.  Here  is  a  lever 
that  must  be  reckoned  with !  Wasn't  that  a  proud 
thought? — And  then  my  heart  warmed  for  our 
benefactor. 

Heinecke.    Huh ! 

RoRERT.     What,  Father? 

Heinecke.    Aw,  nuthin' ! 

Robert.  And  I  have  sworn  that  I  won't  slacken 
in  his  service  until  I've  drawn  my  last  breath! 

Heinecke.  I  should  think  by  this  time  you'd 
have  done  about  enough  for  them ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  You've  scraped  and  slaved  for 
them  for  ten  years  ! 

Robert.  Oh,  it  wasn't  as  bad  as  that.  Mother. 
But  now  let's  not  talk  about  them  this  way  any 
more.  Every  day  we  have  one  reason  or  other  for 
thanking  the  Muhlingks.  The  letters  I  had  from 
the  Councillor,  and  from  Kurt  especially, — he's  a 
partner  now, — were  like  letters  from  a  close  friend. 

Heinecke.  Kurt — Oh,  he's  a  fine  young  gentle- 
man !  But  as  for  the  rest — "  The  Moor  has  paid  his 
debt  "  *  as  the  Berliner  says — show  me  the  rabble ! 
(Robert  szvallows  his  answer  and  turns  away, 
frowning)  But,  Bobby,  look  around!  Don't  you 
notice  anything?    He  don't  see  anything,  Mother! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Oh,  stop  your  chatter ! 

Heinecke.  Chatter!  Ho!  When  I  try  to  wel- 
come my  dear  son  back  to  his  father's  house,  then 
it's  chatter!  (Leads  Robert  to  the  placard) 
W — what  do  you  say  to  that,  eh? 

Robert.  Did  you  make  that.  Father,  you  with 
your  lame  arm? 

Heinecke.  Ah !  I  make  lots  of  things.  If  the 
poor  old  cripple  didn't  take  a  hand  this  fine  family 
would  have  starved  long  ago! — (Rather  roughly) 

•A  well  known  quotation  from  Schiller's  "  Die  Rauber.  " 


HONOR.  17 

What  are  you  standing  there  staring  at,  Mother? 
Where's  the  coffee? 

Frau  Heinecke.    Well,  well!     (Starts  to  go) 

Robert.  (Hurrying  after  her)  Oh,  Mother,  he 
didn't  mean  anything ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Mean  anything?  Ha!  Ha! 
he's  only  talking  that  way  to  make  you  think  he's 
the  man  of  the  house!     (She  goes  out) 

Robert.  (After  a  pause,  he  tries  to  smoothe  over 
the  unpleasantness)    You  still  paste  boxes,  Father? 

Heinecke.    Still  at  it ! 

Robert.     And  the  arm  doesn't  bother  you  ? 

Heikecke.  My  arm,  ha!  ha!  ha!  my  arm!  Do 
you  want  to  see  how  I  do  it !  First  the  pasteboard — 
so — then  the  fold — so!  (With  great  speed  he 
sweeps  the  pastehrush  across  two  sheets  of  card- 
hoard,  pressing  them  into  place  with  his  left  el- 
how)     Who  could  beat  your  old  cripple  at  that? 

Robert.    You  are  a  regular  juggler. 

Heinecke.  That's  what!  But  who  admits  it? 
Who  appreciates  me?  Who  appreciates  me?  No- 
body !  How  could  the  daughters — one  of  'em  al- 
ready a  Missus — respect  me  when  their  own  mother 
gives  'em  such  a  bad  example ! 

Robert.     (Indignantly)     Father! 

Heinecke.  Yes,  you're  a  long  way  from  her 
lap — far  away  cows  have  long  horns — There,  it's 
"  dear  little  Mother !  sweet  little  sister !  " — But  if 
you  knew  what  Fve  had  to  stand!  Not  once  does 
she  give  me  horse-car-fare  when  I  want  to  go  to 
town  for  a  glass  of  beer ! 

Robert.  Are  you  quite  fair  to  her  ?  Doesn't  she 
cherish  you  as  the  apple  of  her  eye? 

Heinecke.  Lord,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything 
against  her — shh! — here  she  comes!  (Enter  Frau 
Heinecke  with  a  steaming  coffee-pot)  Sit  down, 
Bobby, — No,  here  in  the  arm-chair !  Wait  a  min- 
ute! (Pulls  off  the  covering  from  the  chair)  Such 
a  fine  gentleman  ought  to  sit  on  pure  silk ! 


i8  HONOR. 

Robert.    Heavens,  what  luxury ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Yes,  and  the  other's  just  the 
same !  Two  pieces  we've  got !  And  have  you  seen 
the  pier-glass?  All  gold  creepers,  and  the  glass  in 
one  piece !  Augusta's  husband  says  it  cost  at  least 
two  hundred  marks ! 

Robert.  Where  did  all  these  wonderful  things 
com.e  from. 

Frau  Heinecke.    From  the  Councillor ! 

Robert.    He  gives  you  things  like  this? 

Heinecke.    Naw,  only 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Aside)  Ssh !  don't  you 
know  that  Herr  Kurt  doesn't  want  it  known ?  (To 
Robert)  Yes,  last  Christmas  he  gave  us  the  mirror, 
and  this  Christmas  the  two  chairs.  Father,  quit 
boring  holes  in  the  pound  cake ! 

Robert.  Really,  I  don't  like  this  sort  of  gener- 
osity ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Pouring  out  coffee)  This 
furniture  'd  be  too  good  for  some  people !  But 
when  we  have  such  fine  visitors  and  such  a  distin- 
guished gentleman  for  a  son,  and  such  an  awful 
talented  daughter 

Robert.    Alma  ? 

Heinecke.  Yessir!  We  did  everything  for  our 
girl  we  were  able  to  do. 

Frau  Heinecke.  And  you  always  sent 
money 

Robert.  So  that  she  should  have  a  proper 
schooling,  and  learn  millinery  and  bookkeeping. 
That's  what  we  agreed  on. 

Frau  Heinecke.    Yes — that  was  before — ! 

Robert.  Before?  Hasn't  she  the  same  position 
now? 

Frau  Heinecke.    Not  for  the  last  six  months. 

Robert.    What  is  she  doing  now  ? 

Heinecke.  (Proudly)  She  is  cultivating  her 
voice ! 

Robert.    Whv,  I  never  heard  she  was  musical ! 


HONOR.  19 

Heinecke.     Awful  musical ! 

{They  drink  the  coffee.) 

Frau  Heinecke.  She  was  examined  by  some 
Italian  singer — Seenyora  or  something — she  said 
she  had  never  heard  anything  like  it  before  and  she 
would  tal:e  it  as  an  honor  to  develop  Alma's  voice 
herself  at  her  own  cost. 

Robert.    But  why  did  you  keep  that  from  me  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Oh,  it  was  such  a  long  way, 
clear  out  to  India,  you  forget  such  things — and 
then,  we  wanted  to  give  you  a  surprise ! 

Robert.  {Gets  up  and  zvalks  excitedly  up  and 
down)    Auguste  really  takes  good  care  of  her? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Certainly.  She  never  lets  her 
eye  off  her.  x\lma  eats  at  her  house  and  practises 
at  her  house  and  when  she  stays  too  late  to  catch  the 
horsecar  she  sleeps  there — same  as  she  did  last 
night. 

Robert.  And  when  she  stays  away  all  night, 
doesn't  that  v/orry  you  ? 

Heinecke.    Huh  !    Big  girl  like  that ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  No,  not  when  we've  brought 
her  up  so  well — and  she's  with  Auguste,  too !  She 
ought  to  be  here  soon.  The  milk-man  took  the  let- 
ter over  early.     How  surprised  she'll  be ! 

Robert.    And  Auguste  is  happy? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Oh,  so — so.  Her  husband 
boozes  a  little,  and  when  it  comes  to  working,  he 
ain't  much,  but 

Heinecke.  But  when  it  comes  to  sulking  and 
raising  Cain,  he's  right  at  home ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  But,  all  in  all,  they  get  along 
all  right.  Auguste  has  furnished  up  tVv'O  swell 
rooms,  and  rented  'em  to  a  gentleman  from  Pots- 
dam that  ain't  there  half  the  time,  but  pays  for  the 
whole  month !  That  brings  in  many  a  pretty  penny. 
He  pays  a  whole  mark  just  for  his  coffee  in  the 
morning.  {Goes  to  the  window)  There  she  comes! 
And  she's  brought  her  husband  along,  too ! 


20  HONOR. 

Robert,    What?    Isn't  Alma  with  her? 
(AuGUSTE  and  Michalski  come  in.) 

AuGUSTE.  Well,  well,  here  you  are !  ( They  kiss 
each  other)  Everything  has  been  going  fine  with 
you,  hasn't  it?  What's  the  use  of  asking?  When 
a  man  goes  around  in  clothes  like  those ! — Of  course 
everything  ain't  gold  that  glitters — here's  my  hus- 
band! 

Robert.  Well,  brother-in-law,  give  me  your 
hand, — one  of  the  family ! 

Michalski.  Honored !  Don't  often  happen  that 
a  horny  hand  like  this  is  so  honored ! 

Robert.  That  doesn't  sound  very  brotherly.  (To 
Auguste)     Where's  Alma? 

Auguste.  Our  Princess  was  afraid  she  wasn't 
beautiful  enough  for  the  foreign  brother!  She  had 
to  stay  and  burn  her  bangs  first.  (Robert  is  deeply 
concerned)  She'll  probably  come  by  the  next  car. 
Where  did  you  get  the  pound-cake?  (Frau 
Heinecke  passes  the  cake  around  and  Michalski 
and  Auguste  eat) 

Frau  Heinecke.    Eat  another  piece,  Bobby  ! 

(Robert  reftises,  hut  the  others  eat.) 

Heinecke.  (After  a  pause)  What  do  you  say 
to  that,  Michalski,  "  Welcome,  beloved  son." 

Michalski.     (Eating)     Nonsense! 

Robert.      (Surprised)     Brother-in-law! 

Heinecke.  What?  What  I  did  with  this  noble 
heart  and  this  lame  arm ! 

(Robert  pacifies  him.) 

Michalski.  I'm  a  simple  man  and  I  ain't  afraid 
to  say  what  I  think !  I've  got  no  use  for  that  kind 
of  rot  and  nonsense !  When  a  man  has  got  to  work 
the  way  we  do  with  his  stomach  empty  and  a  whip 
at  his  back 


HONOR.  21 

Heinecke.  'Specially  when  a  man  goes  walking 
at  eleven  o'clock  and  eats  pound-cake  to  boot ! 

AuGUSTE.  Are  you  two  at  it  again?  (To 
MiCHALSKi)  Will  you  never  shut  up?  Can't  you 
see  he's  in  his  second  childhood? 

Heinecke.  I'm  in — Good! — Now  you  see! 
That's  the  way  I'm  treated  by  my  ov/n  children  ! 

Robert.  (Aside  to  Auguste)  Really,  sister,  I 
never  thought  you  would  say  a  thing  like  that ! 

Auguste.    What  are  you  talking  about? 

(Enter  Wilhelm.) 

All.  (Except  Robert)  It's  Wilhelm!  Good 
morning,  Wilhelm!  (Heinecke  and  Michalski 
shake  hands  with  him) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Who  is  the  pretty  bouquet  for? 
That  must  be  for  somebody  in  the  city. 

Wilhelm.  No,  it's  for  you  .  .  .  You  are  the 
young  gentleman ?  (Robert  nods — cordially)  Aw- 
ful glad  to  know  you !     (About  to  offer  his  hand) 

Robert.     (Smiling)     Very  kind  of  you. 

Wilhelm.  The  honorable  family  sends  you  a 
hearty  welcome  and  these  flowers.  They  are  the 
rarest  in  the  conservatory.  But,  between  you  and 
me,  the  flowers  came  from  the  Gnadiges  Fraulein. 
And  the  Gnadiges  Fraulein  was  pretty  anxious 
to 

Robert.  Were  you  commissioned  to  say  that, 
too?     (Controlling  his  feelings) 

Wilhelm.    No,  not 

Robert.    Then  keep  it  to  yourself ! 

(The  servant  starts  to  go.) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  a 
piece  of  pound-cake  with  us,  Wilhelm?  There's 
plenty  left ! 

Robert.  Please,  Mother!  (Gives  Wilhelm  a 
gold-piece)     The  man  has  his  pay — Tell  the  Coun- 


22  HONOR. 

cillor  that  the  Count  von  Trast-Saarburg  and  I  beg 
the  honor  of  a  meeting  with  him  at  three  o'clock! 
You  may  go!     (Wilhelm  goes) 

Frau  Heinecke.  a  count!  What  sort  of  a 
count  ? 

Robert.  A  friend  of  mine,  Mother,  to  whom  I 
am  under  great  obUgation. 

AuGUSTE.  (Softly  to  MiCHALSKi)  He  pretends 
to  have  a  count  for  a  friend ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Wait,  I'll  put  the  flowers  in 
water.  But  you  oughtn't  to  have  been  so  harsh  with 
Wilhelm,  Bobby!    He's  a  good  friend  of  ours. 

AuGUSTE.  Us  common  folks  don't  have  counts 
for  friends ! 

MiCHALSKi.  We  have  to  be  contented  with 
servants ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Yes,  you  must  be  nice  to 
Wilhelm,  Robert,  for  our  sakes ;  he  can  do  a  lot  for 
us !  How  many  pieces  of  roasts  and  how  many 
bottles  of  wine  has  he  slipped  us ! 

Robert.    And  you  accepted  them,  Mother? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Why  not,  my  boy !  We're  poor 
folks — we  ought  to  be  glad  to  get  things  like  that 
for  nothing ! 

Robert.  Mother,  Fll  double  my  efforts ;  I'll  give 
you  what  I  can  spare  for  my  bare  living  expenses. 
But  promise  me  you  won't  take  anything  more  from 
that  servant,  will  you? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Oh,  that  would  be  foolish 
pride  and  waste!  You  should  not  look  a  gift-horse 
in  the  mouth !  And  he  only  wanted  to  do  you  a 
favor,  when  he  told  you  that  about  the  Gnadiges 
Fraulein !  That's  something  special !  Whenever  I 
met  her  in  the  court,  there  wasn't  a  single  time 
when  she  didn't  stop  me  and  ask  if  there  was  any 
news  from  you,  and  how  you  got  on  with  the  hot 
weather  and  all !  And  at  the  same  time  she  smiled 
so  friendly — if  you  were  a  smart  boy,  Robert 

Robert.    For  heaven's  sake,  Mother,  stop ! 


HONOR.  21 

Heinecke.  That  wouldn't  be  so  bad — two 
millions ! 

MicHALSKi.  Would  you  lend  me  a  little  then,  eh, 
Brother-in-law  ? 

Robert.  (To  himself)  How  much  longer  must 
I  be  tortured? 

(Alma  appears  at  the  half -open  door.  She  wears 
a  yellow  jacket  and  a  coquettish  little  hat.  She 
wears  suede  gloves  and  many  bracelets.  She 
carries  a  fancy  parasol.) 

Alma.    Good  morning,  everybody. 

Robert.  (Runs  to  her  and  embraces  her)  Alma ! 
Thank  God ! 

MiCHALSKL  (To  Auguste)  The  two  swells  of 
the  family ! 

Auguste.  {Lovingly)  Listen:  little  sister,  if 
you  were  as  ugly  as  you  are  pretty,  you  wouldn't 
take  long  to  find  out  that  your  brother  hated  you. 

Alma.    Auguste,  that's  mean. 

Robert.  Oh,  she  didn't  mean  anything.  Now  be 
pood  again ! 

Alma.     {Affected)     My  own  dear  brother! 

Attguste.     {Aside)     Lord,  ain't  it  touching! 

^  ^i'wAu  Heinecke  helps  Alma  off  with  her  jacket.) 

Heinecke.  Now  what  do  you  say?  {Stroking 
her  cheek)     Are  you  my  little  treasure  or  not,  eh? 

Alma.  {Trilling)  "  Oui,  cher  papa!  c'est 
Girofla !  " 

Heinecke.  Do  you  hear  how  she  sings?  Real 
Italian ! 

Robert.  Now  what's  this  I  hear :  you  want  to  be 
a  great  singer? 

Alma.    Well,  I'd  not  object  to  that! 

Fpau  Heinecke.  Won't  you  eat  a  little  piece  of 
pound-cake,  Alma? 


24  HONOR. 

Alma.  Merci  beaucoup !  {Goes  about  in  front 
of  the  mirror,  eating) 

Robert.    And  you  are  studying  hard? 

At.ma.  (Her  mouth  full  of  cake)  I  have  lessons 
evf^ry  afternoon — Do,  re,  mi,  fa,  sol,  la,  si — si,  la 
sol. — fa — Oh,  those  scales!  Terrible  bore!  And 
practice — Eternal  practice ! — My  nerves  are  ruined 
al  ready ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Poor  child ! 

Alma.  "  Oh,  yes,  Ma !  "  *  I've  been  studying 
English,  too  !  I'm  awfully  cultured. — Oh,  what  I've 
learned ! 

Heinecke.    Yes  sir !    D'ye  see ! 

Alma.  And  above  all — we  only  live  once — have 
a  good  time,  that's  the  main  thing !  Are  you  happy, 
too,  brother? 

Robert.     Certainly,  when  I  have  reason  to  be. 

Alma.  The  great  art  is  to  be  happy  without  any 
reason.  Why  are  we  young  ?  Oh,  it's  good  to  live ! 
Every  day  something  new ! — And  Berlin  is  so 
lovely !  You  know — the  Linden  ! — and  the  electric 
light !  Have  you  seen  it  yet?  That's  what  I  like  the 
best  of  all.  Everybody  is  so  pretty  and  pale,  so  in- 
teresting ! — And  the  restaurants  have  all  got  electric 
lights  now,  too.  Grand ! — I  saw  a  chandelier  in  a 
cafe  in  the  Donhoffplatz — it  was  a  great  big  wreath 
of  flowers  and  every  flower  had  a  light  in  it ! 

Robert.    Were  you  in  the  cafe? 

Alma.  I  ?  How  could  I  be  ?  Through  the  win- 
dow it  was !  You  don't  have  things  like  that  in 
India?    Do  you? 

Robert.     No,  we  certainly  don't. 

Alma.  We're  pretty  far  advanced  in  culture 
here.  Somebody  told  me  that  Berlin  was  almost  as 
beautiful  as  Paris.    Is  that  so? 

Robert.    I  don't  know  Paris,  dear. 

Alma.  Ugh !  That's  a  shame !  Every  young 
man  ought  to  know  Paris. 

*Thu3   in   the   original. — Tr. 


HONOR.  25 

Robert.  (Charmed,  yet  shocked  by  her  vulgar- 
ity)    You  little  silly ! 

Alma.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  I'm  a  funny  one !  don't  you 
think?  Ha!  ha!  Yes,  that's  the  way!  (She  goes 
about  laughing,  and  rocks  back  and  forth.  She 
takes  a  little  handkerchief,  which  she  carries  folded 
in  triangular  form  in  her  belt;  and  holds  it  under 
Auguste's  nose)     Smell  it? 

AuGUSTE.     {Aside)     Fine!    What's  that? 

Alma.  {Aside)  Ixora,  the  very  latest  from 
Paris — got  it  to-day ! 

AuGUSTE.     Coming  out  to-night? 

Alma.  Don't  know!  He'll  send  me  word — But 
to-morrow  evening  we're  going  to  the  masked  ball ! 
Ha !  ha ! 

Robert.  Now  let's  be  sensible  again,  little  one. 
Come  here — Sit  down— Here!    Here! 

Alma.  Heavens  !  How  you  act !  This  is  going 
to  be  a  regular  cross-examination ! 

Robert.     I'm  going  to  ask  you  a  lot  of  questions. 

(Frau  and  Herr  Heinecke  group  themselves  about 
Alma's  chair.  Michalski  sits  on  the  work 
table,  Auguste  beside  him  on  the  stool.) 

Alma.    Go  ahead !    S'il  vous  plait.  Monsieur ! 

Michalski.  {Aside  to  Auguste)  This  will  be 
a  nice  mess ! 

Robert.  How  did  you  happen  to  discover  this 
talent  ? 

Alma.    It  comes  like  love — can't  tell  how ! 

Robert.  {Unpleasantly  affected)  Hum — But 
someone  must  have  told  you  about  it ! 

(Alma  shrugs  her  shoulders.) 

Frau  Heinecke.     Don't  you  remember,  child? 

It  was  Herr  Kurt  that 

Robert.    The  young  manager? 


26  HONO"R.  ■  ' '  ^ 

Heinecke.     Certainly. 

Robert.    But  how  did  he  know ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  He  heard  her  singing — through 
the  window  on  the  court.  And  the  next  thing,  he 
said  it  was  a  sin  and  a  shame  that  a  voice  Hke 
hers 

Robert.  But  why  do  you  let  Mother  tell  every- 
thing, Alma? 

AuGUSTE.     (To  MiCHALSKi)     She's  so  modest. 

Alma.  That  a  voice  like  mine  should  be  wasted 
here  in  the  alley — and  that  /  should  not  be  wasted 
here  in  the  alley,  for  that  matter!  It's  really  an 
imposition  on  you,  Gnadiges  Fraulein,  he  said ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  I  heard  that  myself:  "  Gnadi- 
ges Fraulein !  " 

Heinecke.    My  daughter,  yes  sir ! 

Robert.    Go  ahead.  Alma  ! 

Alma.  My  parents  took  care  of  your  brother,  he 
said, — I'll  take  care  of  you ! — Well,  and  then  he 
found  a  teacher  for  me  who  held  a  cercle  musical — 
that  means  a  musical  circle — made  up  of  young 
ladies  of  the  best  families. — One  is  engaged  to  a 
lieutenant  of  the  Hussars. 

Robert.    And  what  is  the  teacher's  name  ? 

Alma.  (Siispicously)  What  do  you  want  to 
know  for? 

Robert.    Because  it  can't  be  any  secret ! 

Alma.    Her  name  is  Signora  Paulucci. 

Heinecke.     (Enthusiastically)     Real  Italian! 

Robert.  (Taking  out  his  note-book)  And  her 
address  ? 

Alma.  (Quickly)  You  don't  need  to  go  there. 
It's  true ! 

Robert.  Of  course  it's  true.  But  I'd  like  to  hear 
the  teacher's  own  opinion  about  your  voice.  (Alma 
looks  quickly  toward  Auguste) 

AuGusTE.  You  can  go  to  her  lesson  with  her  to- 
morrow. 

Alma.     Yes,  to-morrow ! 


HONOR.  27 

Robert.  Good!  (Gets  up  and  walks  back  and 
forth  excitedly)  I  don't  want  to  make  you  feel 
badly,  dear,  but  I  must  admit  I  don't  share  your 
great  hopes. 

Heinecke.     Eh? 

Robert.  How  many  a  young  girl  is  enticed  into 
these  things  purely  through  ambition  and  vanity ! 
And  it's  dangerous !  More  dangerous  than  you 
realize — Of  course  I  am  sure  that  the  young  man- 
ager has  the  highest  and  the  noblest  of  motives,  but 
—Well,  however  that  may  be,  to-morrow  I'll  hear 
myself  what  the  teacher  says,  and  if  my  doubts  are 
groundless,  I  promise  to  take  care  of  you  myself, 
and  we  shan't  rest  a  moment  until  you  have  reached 
the  climax  of  your  art !  (Alma  takes  the  vase  from 
the  table  and  buries  her  face  in  the  flowers) 
Wouldn't  it  be  strange  if  we  were  to  owe  everything 
— even  this  piece  of  good  fortune — to  the  house  of 
Muhlingk ! 

(MiCHALSKi  laughs  mockingly.) 

Alma.    Mama,  who  sent  me  this  bouquet? 

Frau  Heinecke.  That's  a  welcome  to — (Indi- 
cates Robert)  from  the  Gnadiges  Fraulein ! 

Alma.    Oh,  from  her !   (She  puts  down  the  vase) 

Robert.  Wait  a  minute !  One  question !  It 
seems  that  every  time  I  mention  the  "  Avenue  "  or 
any  of  the  family,  someone  bursts  out  laughing,  or 
makes  some  disapproving  remark.  Herr  Muhlingk 
junior  is  the  only  one  who  seems  to  meet  with  your 
approval.  Now,  frankly,  what  have  you  against  our 
benefactor?  What  has  he  done  to  offend  you? 
(A  pause)  You,  for  instance,  Brother-in-law,  what 
made  you  laugh  so  scornfully?  (Silence)  Or  you, 
Alma,  that  you  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
flowers  that  came  from  Miss  Muhlingk !  Mother 
just  told  me  how  kind  she  has  always  been ! 

Alma.     Kind,  is  she?     She's  a  stuck-up  thing. 


28  HONOR. 

that  can't  poke  her  nose  high  enough  in  the  air  when 
she  meets  me ! — Never  says  a  word  to  me ;  why,  it's 
all  she  can  do  to  return  my  bow  !    Oh,  she ! 

AuGUSTE.     She's  the  same  way  to  me. 

Robert.  {Sorrowfully,  to  himself)  That  isn't 
Hke  her ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Tenderly)  Just  wait  till  she 
marries  my  boy ! 

Robert.  {Shocked, — interrupting  her)  Mother! 
But  I'd  forgotten:  I've  brought  some  presents  for 
my  sisters,  and  you,  too.  Brother-in-law. 

AuGUSTE.  {Jumping  up  greedily)  \A''hat  have 
you  got  ?    Where  is  it  ? 

Robert.  In  the  bed-room.  There's  a  card  with 
each  one's  name  on  it. 

{The  three,  Auguste  ahead,  hurry  into   the  bed- 
room.) 

Heinecke.    And  you've  got  nothing  for  us  ? 

Robert.  There  wasn't  anything  out  there  good 
enough  for  you,  dear  parents.  Tell  me  what  you 
want  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  If  I  should  see  the  day  when  I 
had  a  sofa  to  match  them  arm-chairs — {She  sees 
that  Robert  is  staring  ahead  without  listening  to 
her)     But  you  ain't  listening ! 

Robert.  {Sadly  reproving)  No,  mother,  I 
wasn't  listening ! 

Heinecke.  {Defiantly)  And  I  want  a  new 
paste-pot — you  ought  to  be  able  to  afford  that ! 
{The  three  come  hack  from  the  bedroom.  Auguste 
carries  a  colored  shawl.  Alma  a  jewel-case,  Mich- 
ALSKi  a  Turkish  pipe.  They  surround  Robert  and 
thank  him) 

Auguste.  What  a  pity  they  don't  wear  Indian 
shawls  any  more ! 

MiCHALSKi.  {Puffing  at  the  stem  of  his  pipe) 
Course  it  don't  draw  ! 


HONOR.  29 

Robert.  {To  Alma,  who  is  playing  with  her 
jewels)  Are  you  satisfied,  Alma?  Look  at  the 
three  blue  stones,  they  are  Indian  sapphire. 

Alma.  Very  pretty !  But  to  tell  the  truth,  I  like 
the  dark-blue  sapphires  more !  They  have  such 
beautiful  brilliancy ! 

Robert.  How  do  you  know  so  much  about  such 
things  ? 

Alma.  Oh — from  the  shop  windows !  People  of 
our  sort  like  to  look  in  windows ! 

Robert.    And  what's  that  shining  in  your  ear? 

Alma.     Paste,  that's  all !    Two  Marks  a  pair ! 

Robert.      Dear,    you    mustn't    wear    things    like . 
that ! — Promise  me  you'll   take  them  off  this  minute 
— and  I'll  show  you  another  special  surprise  that 
I've  brought  you. 

Alma.  {Sullenly,  taking  off  the  ear-rings)  As 
you  please ! 

Robert.     It's  the  dress  of  a  hindoo  Princess — . 
looted  on  a  military  invasion  undertaken  by  a  friend 
of  mine.    Think  of  it !    Pink  and  gold  ! 

Alma.     {Joyfully)     Oh,  how  heavenly! 

Michalski.       {Laughing)      And    I    s'pose    yoU: 
hung  her  up  stark  naked  on  a  tree ! 

(Robert  stares  at  him.) 

Alma.  {Lovingly)  You're  a  dear,  sweet,  old 
brother ! 

{A  coachman  in  livery  knocks  at  the  window.) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Go,  see  what  Johann  wants, 
Father. 

Alma.     {To  Auguste)     Oh,  but  they'll  all  turn 
green  with  envy  when  I  wear  this  to  the  masked  ball 
to-morrow. 
'  Auguste.     Shh! 

Heinecke.     {From  the  window)     Johann  says 


30  HONOR. 

Herr  Kurt  is  going  to  drive  to  the  city  at  three,  and 
he  wants  to  know  if  you'd  like  to  go  along. 

(Alma  and  Auguste  exchange  glances.) 

Robert.    What  does  that  mean? 

Auguste.  Simple  enough !  Herr  Kurt  has  his 
carriage,  and  since  he's  an  obliging  young  man  he 
gave  Alma  a  standing  invitation  to  ride  to  the  city 
with  him. 

Robert.  What  ?  She  allowed  that  ?  You,  sister, 
you  accepted  that? 

Alma.  A  poor  girl  ought  to  be  glad  enough  to 
ride  in  a  carriage  once  in  a  while ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    And  you  save  car- fare ! 

Robert.  Good  heavens  !  And  what  do  the  ladies 
on  the  Avenue  say  to  that? 

Alma.  Oh,  they  don't  know  anything  about  it ! 
When  I  ride  with  him  he  stops  the  carriage  at  the 
back  doorway  where  only  the  tradespeople  go  in. 

Robert.  So  much  the  worse !  What  a  disgusting 
implication  in  all  this  secrecy !  Alma,  haven't  you 
felt  that  yourself? — Alma,  come  here! — Look  me  in 
the  eyes. 

Alma.     (Staring  at  him)    Well? 

Robert.  (Takes  her  head  in  both  his)  You  are 
pure! — you  are — (He  kisses  her  cheeks  and  fore- 
head) 

Heinecke.     Decide,  now!    Johann  is  waiting! 

Robert.  Tell  Johann,  Father,  that  I'll  speak  to 
his  master  about  it  first. 

Alma.  What  for?  It's  all  been  arranged  already. 

Robert.  You  won't  use  Herr  Muhlingk's  car- 
riage any  more !  For  a  girl  of  your — our  position, 
there  is  always  the  street-car ! 

(Alma  begins  to  cry  defiantly.) 

Frau  Heinecke.    The  poor  child ! 
Auguste.    You  seem  to  want  to  turn  everything 
in  this  house  upside  down ! 


'  HONOR.  31 

{Children's  voices  are  heard  in  the  court.) 

Heinecke.  Come  here ! — Quick ! — A  Moor ! — in 
a  turban ! 

All.  (Except  Robert,  who  remains,  troubled, 
rush  to  the  window)     That's  not  a  Moor ! 

Alma.  (Still  sobbing)  Robert — is  that — a 
Moor? 

Robert.  (Darkly)  No,  that's  my  friend's  In- 
dian servant. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Your  friend? — is  that  the 
count  ? 

Robert.    Yes. 

(The  servant  comes  in,  and  they  crowd  about  him.) 

Robert.  Ragharita,  your  master  is  welcome  in 
the  house  of  my  father ! 

(Servant  goes  out.  Great  excitement.  Frau 
Heinecke  draws  out  the  arm-chairs  and  pol- 
ishes the  mirror.) 

Alma.  (From  the  mirror)  Is  your  count  young 
or  old?  (Robert  makes  no  answer)  My  eyes  are 
red  ! — Red  as  fire,  aren't  they,  Auguste  ?  And  he 
may  be  young!    (She  goes  out,  left) 

Michalski.  Come,  Auguste,  we  won't  disturb 
the  great  gentlemen ! 

Heinecke.  Herr  Count,  I'll  say,  take  a  seat  in 
this  arm-chair,  I'll  say!  Oh,  we  know  how  to  act 
with  the  nobility ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  There  was  a  baron  here  once 
— a  gentleman  friend  of  Herr  Kurt.  Don't  you  re- 
member, Father?  He  came  to  ask  after  Alma — 
Rut  a  count !  we  never  had  a  count  I 

Robert.  Who  did  you  say  had  been  here, 
Mother  ? 

(Enter  Count  Trast,  a  man  between  forty  and 


32  HONOR. 

fifty,  with  gray  hair  and  a  long,  blond  heard. 
He  is  dressed  with  careless  foreign  elegance. 
Robert  rushes  to  him  and  takes  his  hand.) 

Trast.  {Aside  to  Robert)  How  is  this?  Hasn't 
the  home  fever  abated  yet!  (Aloud)  So  here  we 
have  the  long-expected  son!  (Shakes  his  hand) 
Do  you  know,  my  fine  people,  that  a  sort  of  foster- 
son  of  yours  is  standing  here?  The  friendship  with 
this  dear  old  comrade  of  mine  gives  me  almost  a 
right  to  that  title ! 

(Heinecke  tiptoes  out  of  the  door.) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Wouldn't  the  Count  like  a 
piece  of  pound-cake?    There  is  still  some  there. 

Trast.  Thanks,  I  shall  be  glad— I  certainly 
shall ! 

(Frau  Heinecke  curtseys  out  of  the  room.) 

Trast.  You're  pale,  my  boy,  and  your  hands  are 
shaking — what's  wrong  ? 

Robert.  Oh,  nothing!  The  happiness — the  ex- 
citement !     It's  only  natural ! 

Trast.  Naturally!  (Aside)  He's  lying!  (To 
Robert)  Tell  me,  how  long  do  you  intend  to  stay 
here?  I  v/ant  to  regulate  my  stay  in  this  great 
Europe  by  that ! 

Robert.  That's  impossible,  my  friend !  Our 
ways  will  have  to  part ! 

Trast.     Nonsense ! 

Robert.  I  shall  ask  my  employer  to  give  me  a 
position  here.  The  climate  in  India — you  under- 
stand  ? 

Trast.  That's  pleasant !  He  doesn't  want  to 
leave  his  mother's  apron-strings  again,  eh? 

Robert.  Don't  make  fun  of  me.  Since  we're 
going  to  part — I  have  to  say  it  some  time — I  thank 


I 


HONOR.  33 

you,  you  kind  old  wicked  fellow,  for  all  you've  done 
for  me.  It  was  the  most  fortunate  moment  of  my 
life  when  you  saw  me  standing  feverishly  behind 
my  young  employer  in  the  Club  at  Buitenzorg,  when 
he  was  throwing  one  hundred-gulden  note  after  the 
other  onto  the  green  cloth. 

Trast.  Why  was  I  such  a  fool?  If  you're  going 
to — Ugh  !     It  isn't  decent ! 

Robert.  Trast !  don't  hurt  me.  See,  I  owe 
everything  to  you.  When  I  heard  your  name  then 
— the  name  of  Trast  and  Company  that  is  known 
from  Yokohama  to  Aden,  I  felt  as  though  I  were 
standing  before  the  Kaiser  himself ! 

Trast.    Kaiser,  by  the  grace  of  coffee ! 

Robert.  Muhlingk's  undertaking  in  Batavia  was 
on  the  road  to  ruin  that  minute. 

Trast.  No  wonder,  when  it  had  the  worst  good- 
for-nothing  in  the  Archipelago  for  its  head. 

Robert.  There  was  nothing  ahead  of  me  but  fail- 
ure and  discharge.  And  then  you  took  the  poor 
home-sick  clerk  under  your  pinion,  your  name 
opened  a  hundred  doors  for  me  and  I  grew  up  into 
manhood  under  your  care !  And  Herr  Benno 
Muhlingk  led  his  merry  life  as  he  pleased,  and  I 
ran  the  entire  business. 

Trast.  And  the  end  of  the  story  is  that  the  firm 
of  Muhlingk,  along  with  its  clever  representative,  is 
a  few  thousands  richer  because  of  us.  It's  a 
shame!  you  ought  to  have  profited  by  it  yourself. 
Well,  I'll  open  your  employer's  eyes  to  the  kind  of  a 
man  you've  been !  If  he  doesn't  at  least  make  you  a 
partner,  I  shall  declare  such  a  corner  in  coffee,  in 
my  righteous  wrath,  that  the  noble  German  oak- 
leaf  *  shall  be  valued  as  never  before.  But,  seri- 
ously, why  do  you  insist  on  this  caprice  of  remain- 
ing with  the  Muhlingks  ?  I  offer  you  a  tremendous 
salary    and    a    pair    of    trousers    every    Christmas. 

•The  poor  people  in  Germany  drink  an  infusion  of  oak- 
leaves  In  place  of  coffee. 


34  HONOR. 

(Robert  shakes  his  head)  It  isn't  only  gratitude 
that  makes  a  man  cling  to  such  an  insane  idea !  Of 
course  if  the  inventory  of  the  firm  included  a  fair 
German  maiden — {Aside)  Aha!  {To  Robert) 
Speaking  of  maidens,  just  listen  to  what  happened 
to  me  last  night.  After  we  had  left  each  other  I 
wandered  aimlessly  along  the  street.  A  friendly 
poster  invited  into  a  masked  ball.  A  hundred  In- 
dian dancers  were  to  present  their  exciting  dance 
according  to  the  advertisement — well,  that  is  my 
specialty — I  went  in.  Everything  seemed  arranged 
to  lead  a  young  monk  to  forget  his  oath.  And  then 
suddenly  there  came  before  me  a  young  girl,  tender 
and  fresh  as  a  half-ripe  peach.  She  seemed  to  be 
without  a  partner.  I  presented  myself.  Not  at  all 
bashful,  she  begged  for  a  little  plaything  that  hung 
on  my  watch-chain,  in  a  little  baby  voice.  It  was 
my  patron  saint  Ganesa,  god  of  success,  who  rides 
on  a  little  rat.  And  I  smelled  a  rat  myself.  What 
do  you  suppose  I  found  beneath  her  childish  inno- 
cence?   Naif  depravity ! 

Robert.     {Nervously)    Are  such  things  possible? 

Trast.  Listen.  My  heart  always  beats  according 
to  the  tempo  required  by  the  custom  of  the  land 
v/hose  hospitality  I  am  enjoying.  I  always  keep  a 
harem  in  the  Orient ;  in  Italy  I  climb  the  garden 
v/all  by  moonlight,  in  France  I  pay  the  dressmaker's 
bills,  and — Lord  !  —in  Germany — well,  I  know  the 
return  journey  from  virtue,  too!  All  according  to 
rule!  In  the  Orient  one  loves  with  his  senses,  in 
Italy  with  his  imagination,  in  France  with  his  pock- 
etbook,  in  Germany  with  his  conscience !  So  I  tried 
to  change  this  sinning  child  to  a  repentant  Magda- 
len. Before  I  could  get  started,  however,  the  cham- 
pagne had  to  be  uncorked — then  came  a  gentleman, 
half  demon  and  half  fool,  and  claimed  the  lady  as 
his  own.  I  respected  the  ancient  law  of  precedence, 
and  went  to  bed  the  poorer  by  one  good  act.  But 
I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know  how  it  happened 


HONOR.  35 

that  a  sweet  little  thing  like — (Robert  covers  his 
face  with  his  hands)  Good  Lord! — what  is  it? — 
Shh! 

(Enter  Frau  Heinecke.) 

Frau  Heinecke.    Bobby ! 

Robert.    Mother ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Have  you  got  a  corkscrew  by 
you?  (To  Trast)  My  daughter  would  like  to 
offer  you  a  bottle  of  wine.  It's  no  ordinary  wine, 
either,  it's  the  best  there  is ! 

Robert.    Comes  from  the  Avenue,  I  suppose? 

Frau  Heinecke.     (Proudly)     It  does  indeed. 

Robert.  There !  ( Throws  down  his  knife  on 
the  table) 

Frau  Heinecke.    How  you  do  act! 

Robert.    Yes,  I  forgot ! — Forgive  me  ! 

(Frau  Heinecke  goes  out.) 

Trast.     Now  confess,  my  boy !    Trust  in  me ! 

Robert.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  never  seen  my  home 
again ! 

Trast.  Ha !  so  that's  where  the  wind  blows 
from. 

Robert.  I  am  ashamed  of  the  position  I  was  born 
in.  My  own  people  have  become  nothing  to  me.  My 
whole  being  shudders  from  contact  with  them.  I 
can't  trust  my  mind,  one  mad  suspicion  follows  the 
other !  Trast !  I  almost  believe  I  don't  even  respect 
the  breast  that  nursed  me ! 

Trast.     That's  simply  rot ! 

Robert.  If  I  could  only  explain  what  I  have  suf- 
fered !  Every  serious  word  strikes  me  like  a  blow  I 
And  every  pleasantry  like  a  slap  in  the  face !  It 
seems  as  though  they  could  talk  of  nothing  but 
what  hurts  me— I  thought  I  was  coming  back  to  a 
home, — instead  of  that  it's  a  strange  world  where  I 
dare  hardly  breathe  ! — Advise  me  what  to  do ! 

Trast.    Pack  your  trunk  ! 


36  HONOR. 

Robert.  That  would  be  a  cowardly  and  heartless 
retreat !    Do  they  deserve  that — My  own  parents ! 

Trast.  Listen — drop  the  pathetic  note — The 
matter  is  simple  enough  for  us.  We've  studied 
caste  in  its  native  wilds.  The  same  castes  exist 
here.  They  aren't  established  by  food-laws,  or  mar- 
riage-rules and  religious  etiquette ;  those  were  sim- 
ple. The  chasm  that  can't  be  bridged  is  the  differ- 
ence of  feeling — each  caste  has  its  own  sense  of 
honor,  its  own  nice  distinctions,  its  own  ideas,  yes, 
even  its  own  speech.  Unhappy  is  the  man  who  has 
fallen  out  of  his  ov/n  caste  and  hasn't  the  courage 
to  cut  himself  off  from  it  entirely.  Just  such  a 
declasse  are  you ! — and  you  know,  I  was  the  same 
thing  myself !  Just  what  you  are  feeling  now,  I 
went  through  years  ago.  How  do  you  suppose  I 
felt,  chic  young  cavahy  officer,  when  I  woke  one 
morning  to  the  realization  that  I  had  gambled  away 
ninety  thousand  talers  that  had  to  be  paid  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  What  good  did  it  do  me  to  ride  home 
and  throw  myself  at  my  father's  feet?  He  would 
have  put  his  head  in  pawn  to  save  the  honor  of  our 
name — but  he  had  already  done  so!  And,  since  he 
had  nothing  else  to  give  me,  he  gave  me  at  least 
his  curse ! 

Robert.  (Brooding)  How  you  had  the  courage 
to  live  after  that ! 

Trast.    Do  you  know  what  happened  then  ? 

Robert.  (Absently,  tortured  by  his  own 
thoughts)     I  know  nothing — nothing — nothing! 

Trast.  Then  listen  to  me !  Perhaps  it  may  be  of 
use  to  you.  When  my  comrades  said  farewell  to 
me  they  did  me  the  last  favor  of  placing  a  cocked 
revolver  on  my  table.  I  looked  at  the  matter  from 
all  sides.  I  took  for  granted  that,  without  my  honor 
I  could  not  live.  Then,  as  I  pointed  the  thing  to  my 
forehead  the  thought  came  to  me — this  is  brutal, 
this  is  silly !  How  different  are  you  to-day  from 
what  you  were  three  days  ago?     Perhaps  you  de- 


HONOR.  37 

served  punishment  for  having  promised  money  that 
you  didn't  have ;  but  not  death  !  For  thousands  of 
years  men  have  enjoyed  the  Hght  of  the  sun  with- 
out letting  the  phantom  of  honor  darken  it.  To-day 
nine  hundred  and  ninety  thousands  of  people  be- 
long to  that  same  class,  live  as  they  did,  and  work 
as  they  did,  and  enjoy  the  sun  as  they  did !  Twelve 
years  later — of  course  my  debt  was  long  since  can- 
celled— when  I  came  back  to  Europe  a  sort  of  rec- 
onciliation took  place  between  my  father  and  me. 
But  it  was  only  an  outward  reconciliation.  If  he 
had  found  me,  like  a  prodigal  son,  lying  on  his  door- 
step, he  would  have  lifted  me  up  from  the  dirt  with 
trembling  hands  and  pressed  me  to  his  bosom. 
Since  I  carried  my  head  a  little  defiantly  and  was  in 
a  position  to  help  him  out  with  half  a  million  or  so 
he  couldn't  forgive  me.  A  few  weeks  later  I  left. 
The  rich  coffee  seller  and  the  poor  cavalier  had 
nothing  in  common. 

Robert.    And  now  he's  dead ! 

Trast.  May  he  find  peace  in  the  heaven  he  be- 
lieved in  !  Now  the  moral :  leave  your  parents  their 
point  of  view.  You  can't  change  that.  Give  where 
there  is  need — give  all  you  have,  and  then — come 
with  me ! 

Robert.  I  can't!  Listen,  I'll  tell  you  why.  I 
didn't  tell  you  before  because  I  was  ashamed.  I 
have  a  little  sister,  she  was  a  baby  when  I  left.  Oh, 
how  I  longed  to  see  her  and  looked  forward  to  the 
meeting !  And  I  wasn't  disappointed,  for  she  was 
prettier  and  sweeter  than  I  had  hoped!  But  my 
love  for  her  before  a  thousand  fears  I  am  afraid  to 
mention !  For  what  she  does  and  lets  others  do  with 
her — in  perfect  innocence,  of  course — goes  against 
every  feeling  of  honor  I  possess !  Just  now  when 
you  were  telling  about  that  girl  in  the  dance-hall ;  a 
cold  shiver  went  through  me!  Because — no,  no,  a 
thousand  times  no !  Here  is  my  place !  I  must  stay 
here,  to  stand  or  fall ! 


38  HONOR. 

Trast.  I  admit  you  have  reasons  that  are  at  least 
worth  considering.  But  you  are  excited.  I'll  wager 
you  are  looking  at  the  dark  side ! 

Robert.    Would  to  God  !     {He  sits  down) 

(Enter  Alma,  with  a  tea-tray,  upon  which  is  a  bot- 
tle of  wine  and  three  glasses.  The  Count 
makes  a  start,  Alma  cries  out.  The  tea-tray 
almost  falls) 

Trast.  (Quickly  seising  the  situation,  steps  to 
her  aid)  Came  near  being  a  catastrophe,  Fraulein ! 
(Aside)     It  is  a  catastrophe ! 

Robert.  See,  Trast,  this  is  she !  Isn't  she  an 
angel?  There,  give  him  your  hand,  and  tell  him 
he's  welcome ! 

Alma.     (Aside)     Don't  tell  on  me— eh? 

Trast.  (Aside)  Poor  devil !  How  can  I  get 
hi  mout  of  it  ? 

CURTAIN. 


ACT  II. 


Scene: — The  drawing-room  in  the  Muhlingk's 
house  (The  "  Vorderhaus").  The  furnishings 
are  rich  but  rather  stiff.  At  the  back,  a  zvide 
door  hung  with  portieres  opens  into  the  dining- 
room.  On  the  left,  beside  a  fire-place  is  a  sofa 
and  an  oval  table.  Beside  it  a  rocking-chair. 
In  the  dining-room  the  richly  set  table  can  be 
seen.  Dinner  is  over  and  a  servant  is  clearing 
azvay  the  things.  Herr  Muhlingk,  Frau 
MuHLiNGK,  Kurt  and  Leonore  are  drinking 
coffee  in  the  drazving-room.  The  servant  who 
has  passed  the  cups  goes  out. 

Kurt.    As  I  remarked  before,  the  black  horse  is 
fine! 


HONOR.  39 

Kurt.     Expensive  it  certainly  is! 

Frau  Muiilingk.  I  shall  make  up  the  rest  of 
the  money,  just  to  stop  the  argument. 

Kurt.  (Kisses  her  hand)  My  best  thanks, 
Mam.a; — Now  I  can  show  myself  to  Berlin  mounted 
and  spurred !— You  can  admire  me,  too,  Lori ! 

Leonore.  {IVithout  looking  up  from  her  book) 
Yes,  my  dear. 

Kurt.  Lothar  Brandt  and  Hugo  Stengel  wanted 
to  come  out  to  see  the  beast.  Perhaps  that  doesn't 
interest  you  either,  Lori  ? 

Leonore.  They  will  probably  come  often.  They 
haven't  anything  else  to  do.  (Looking  at  the  clock — 
aside)  Oh,  how  the  time  drags!  (The  servant 
goes  out) 

Frau  Muiilingk.  You  must  not  speak  so 
harshly  about  these  gentlemen,  my  child.  You 
know  Lothar  wants  to  pay  court  to  you. 

Leonore.    Really  ? 

Frau  Muhlingk.     Haven't  you  noticed  it? 

Leonore.  1  haven't  paid  any  particular  atten- 
tion. 

Frau  Muhlingk.  (To  her  husband)  It's  un- 
bearable, Theodore ! 

Muhlingk.  We've  had  enough  of  this  tone,  my 
child.  Even  the  pride  in  your  paternal  bank  ac- 
count has  its  limits. 

Leonore.  (Looking  at  him)  Pride  in  the  pa- 
ternal bank  account? 

Muhlingk.  Well,  how  can  we  explain  this  man- 
ner you  have  assumed  for  the  last  ten  years,  send- 
ing home  every  rich  and  respected  man  who  has 
proposed  to  you  ? — I  am  a  simple,  middle-class  man. 
I  made  my  own  way  with  my  own  help 

Kurt.    That  is  to  say,  he  married  a  rich  wife. 

Muhlingk.    What's  that,  Kurt? 

Kurt.  An  exclamation  of  admiration,  Father; 
nothing  else. 

Muhlingk.    No,  I  didn't  have  it  as  easy  as  you, 


40  HONOR. 

my  boy.  You  might  well  follow  my  example.  I 
don't  like  to  play  the  spender  and  I  don't  care  to 
see  it  in  my  children,  either.  That  is  the  only  way 
one  can  live  tastefully ! 

Kurt.    — and  cheap,  too ! 

Leonore.  Your  accusation  doesn't  apply  to  me, 
papa. 

Frau  Muhlingk.  Will  you  condescend  to  give 
us  an  explanation  then? 

Leonore.    Mama ! 

Frau  Muhlingk.     (Nervously)     Well? 

Leonore.  (Rising)  Oh,  why  can't  you  let  me 
work  out  my  own  salvation?  I  am  modest  enough 
— I  only  ask  to  be  allowed  to  live  my  own  life. 

Muhlingk.  You  call  that  modest?  If  that  is 
modest,  what  is  to  become  of  the  sanctity  of  fam- 
ily ties? 

Frau  Muhlingk.  (To  her  husband)  Do  you 
hear  that  ?    I  haven't  slept  for  nights  and  nights ! 

Leonore.    Because  of  me,  mama? 

Frau  Muhlingk.  Every  day  these  mad  ideas, 
these  unconventional  acts !  Now  what  does  it 
mean  this  time,  when  you  plunder  the  hothouse  to 
send  flowers  to  a  clerk ! 

Leonore.     You  mean  Robert? 

Frau  Muhlingk.  The  young  Herr  Heinecke,  I 
mean. 

Leonore.  He  isn't  a  clerk.  He  is  almost  a  mem- 
ber of  the  family ! 

Kurt.     Oh,  thank  you. 

Frau  Muhlingk.  (Mildly)  That  is,  we  brought 
him  up  out  of  the  gutter. 

Muhlingk.     (As  the  servant  enters)     Eh? 

WiLHELM.  The  young  Herr  Heinecke  from  the 
alley  sends  word  that  he  will  take  the  liberty  of 

(Leonore  looks  at  the  clock  involuntarily.) 

Muhlingk.  Well,  well — just  like  a  noble  gen- 
tleman !    That  is  good  ! 


HONOR.  41 

WiLHELM.  — calling,  with  your  permission.  He 
named  another  gentleman.  Count  Trast,  or  some- 
one  

MuHLiNGK.  (Jumping  up)  What!  Count 
Trast !  Trast  and  Company,  Kurt !  The  coffee 
King.     (Motions  the  servant  off) 

Kurt.     What  luck  that  clerk  has ! 

MuHLiNGK.  Oh,  we  must  invite  him  to  the 
house,  Amalie. 

Frau  Muhlingk.  Very  good, — to-morrow 
morning. 

Leonore.  What !  and  not  invite  Robert  Hein- 
ecke  too? 

Kurt.     (Aside)     Better  and  better ! 

Muhlingk.  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  When 
one  descends  to  the  level  of  these  people  one  really 
unites  their  interests  with  the  interests  of  the  firm. 
A  thing  like  that  often  brings  in  thousands,  Kurt. 
The  young  fellow  did  very  well  under  Benno's  di- 
rection and  inasmuch  as  I'm  thinking  of  sending 
him  for  ten  years  into  the  Antilles,  I 

Leonore.  (Indignantly)  Oh,  I  did  not  mean  it 
that  way,  papa ! 

Muhlingk.    Oh,  that's  all  right. 

Frau  Muhlingk.  And,  Kurt,  you  must  take 
care  that  the  young  fellow  doesn't  make  any  faux 
pas.  He  comes  from  the  alley,  you  know.  A  thing 
like  that  might  spoil  the  whole  affair. 

Kurt.  (Standing  up)  Pardon  me,  did  you  ex- 
pect I  would  invite  my  friends? 

Muhlingk.  Certainly,  your  friends,  too !  Bach- 
elors always  have  plenty  of  time. 

Kurt.  (Standing  up)  Pardon  me,  I  should  like 
to  ask  to  be  excused  from  doing  that.  I  can't  be  ex- 
pected to  introduce  gentlemen  of  good  family  to 
the  son  of  (Indicating  the  alley)     Herr  Heinecke. 

Leonore.  (Aside)  Would  you  rather  have  the 
brother  of  Miss  Heinecke  here? 


42  HONOR. 

Kurt.  {Shocked,  then  gathering  himself  to- 
gether)    What  do  you  mean? 

Leonore.  Be  thankful  I  don't  insist  on  an  an- 
swer. 

Kurt.    Really ! 

Leonore.    Shall  I  ? 

Kurt.    So  you're  threatening  me,  are  you  ? 

IMuHLiNGK.  My  dear  children,  in  this  house  we 
won't  have  any  scenes,  please. 

Frau  MuiiLiNGK.  Don't  let's  pay  any  attention 
to  it,  Theodore.  I'll  lie  down  now  and  rest  for  a 
minute  or  two — Won't  you? 

(MuHLiNGK  kisses  her  ceremoniously  on  the  fore- 
head. ) 

Kurt.  (Aside)  The  good  old  days!  Good- 
bye! (Frau  Muhlingk  goes  toiuards  door. 
MuHLiNGK  rings) 

Leonore.  {Hurrying  after  Frau  Muhlingk) 
Mother ! 

Frau  Muhlingk.  {Turns  around,  speaks  nerv- 
ously, hut  in  a  friendly  tone)  Never  mind !  It's  all 
right!     {She  goes  out) 

Muhlingk.  Ask  any  visitors  to  come  into  my 
ofifice. 

(Muhlingk  and  the  Servant  go  out.    Kurt  also 
starts  to  go.) 

Leonore.  It  seems  to  me  we  have  something  to 
say  to  each  other. 

Kurt.    We  ?    Oh,  no ! 

Leonore.  You  don't  want  to  draw  me  into  an 
argument,  perhaps? 

Kurt.  It  doesn't  seem  to  suit  you  when  I  take  a 
notion  to  see  a  little  of  the  world.  Because  you  are 
four  years  older  than  I,  and  because  you  taught 
me  to  walk,  you'd  still  like  to  have  me  tied  to  your 
apron-strings.      You — but    I    can    go — alone    now. 


HONOR.  43 

There  are  ladies  who  have  said  I  go  too  far.  Let 
me  find  heaven  in  my  ov^-n  way. 

Leonore.  I  have  never  interfered  with  you.  Go 
on,  play  the  man-of-the  world  as  much  as  you  like, 
but  have  the  courage  to  admit  it. 

Kurt.     What  good  would  that  do? 

Leonore.  You  play  the  dutiful  son  and  then 
make  fun  of  your  parents  behind  their  backs.  Be- 
lieve me,  Kurt ;  you  are  ruining  your  character. 

Kurt.     (Laughiny)     No! 

Leonore.  There  is  just  one  thing  I  ask  of  you 
- — at  least  keep  this  house  and  its  surroundings 
sacred. 

Kurt.    We'll  do  that  with  the  help  of  the  Lord ! 

Leonore.  Do  you  know  what  they  are  whisper- 
ing around  the  factory?  That  you  are  paying  far 
too  much  attention  to  Robert  Heinecke's  sister — 
that  you 

Kurt.  (Shrugging  his  shoulders)  Yes,  and  you 
allow  yourself  to  carry  the  gossip  of  the  backstairs 
about 

Leonore.  Kurt,  not  that  tone !  I  defended  you 
from  Mama  aand  Papa  to-day.  The  next  time  I 
shan't  do  it.  And  remember  one  thing:  Robert  has 
come  back. — If  he  finds  his  sister  guilty — don't 
worry,  I  wouldn't  dare  think  it! — But  the  girl  is 
frivolous  and  vain !  If  it  were  so — and  you  were  to 
blame,  Kurt,  take  care !  He  would  break  you  in 
pieces ! 

Kurt.      Who?      My    clerk? — with    his    sample- 


case 


Leonore.    And  you  stoop  to  steal  this  from  your 
clerk. 

Kurt.    What's  that?    Steal — steal  what? 

Leonore.     His  position  in  the  world !     His  good 
name ! 

Kurt.    The  good  name  of  Heinecke — bah ! 
{Enter  a  servant  with  two  visiting  cards  which  he 
hands  to  Leonore.) 


44  HONOR.  '■''*   ""^ 

Leonore.    Visitors  for  you. 

Kurt.     Who  ? 

Leonore.     Read ! 

Kurt.  Lothar  Brandt. — Hugo  Stengel. — Show 
them  in.  (Throws  the  cards  on  the  table,  Servant 
goes  out) 

(Leonore  drops  into  the  rocking-chair.) 

Kurt.  Signs  and  miracles !  You  didn't  run 
away. 

(Enter  Hugo  Stengel  and  Lothar  Brandt.) 

Lothar.     'Morning,  old  fellow. 

Kurt.  (Going  to  him)  You've  come  to  see  my 
horse.    This  is  very  good  of  you ! 

Hugo.  (Bowing  to  Lenore)  We  took  the  lib- 
erty ! 

Lotiiar.  (Bowing  to  Leonore)  If  we  aren't 
disturbing  the  Gnadiges  Fraulein. 

Leonore.  (Politely)  Certainly  not.  I  seldom 
go  into  the  stables. 

(Brandt  and  Stengel  clear  their  throats.) 

Kurt.    Won't  you  sit  down  ? 

Lothar.  We  await  the  permission  of  Fraulein 
Leonore. 

Leonore.  (Coolly)  Oh,  please!  (She  takes  a 
book  and  begins  turning  the  leaves.  Kurt  throws 
her  a  look.    They  sit  dozvn) 

Kltrt.    Well,  where  were  you  yesterday  ? 

Lothar.  (Affectedly)  Ah,  by  Jove,  you  make 
an  awful  demand  on  a  man's  memory.  What  was 
I  doing  yesterday?  First  I  went  riding,  then  I  had 
a  conference  with  Father. — Coffee  is  sinking  again. 

Hugo.    Alarmingly — 53  and  a  half. 

Lothar.  Alarmingly,  is  not  the  right  word.  It 
is    sinking.      We'll    make   a    fight.      Then   I    made 


HONOR.  45 

some  visits,  then  I  dined  at  the  Officers'  Associa- 
tion  

Leonore.     {Looking  up)    Ah,  you  are  an  officer ? 

LoTHAR.  {Insulted)  1  thought  you  knew, 
Gnadiges  Fraulein? — I  am  a  Reserve  Lieutenant  in 
the  "  Crown  Prince  "  Cuirassier  regiment. 

Leonore.  {Smiling,  looking  toward  the  table) 
Ah,  yes !    Note  visiting  card ! 

Kurt.  {Slapping  him  on  the  back)  And  besides 
that,  boots  and  saddles  astride  Papa's  desk  chair. 

LoTHAR.     {Sharply)     Oh  I  say,  old  fellow  ! 

Leonore.  The  desk  chair  isn't  the  slowest  horse 
in  the  race  for  fortune  you  know,  Herr  Lieutenant. 

Hugo.    Oh,  that  was  good! 

Kurt.    But  I  looked  for  you  last  evening. 

LoTHAR.  The  evening. — We  were  invited  some- 
v.'here?  Where?  It  isn't  quite  clear  in  my  memory 
now.  We  won't  discuss  the  matter.  You  seem  to 
be  amused,  Gnadiges  Fraulein? 

Leonore.     Is  that  forbidden? 

LoTHAR.  But  really,  you  know,  you  in  your  pride 
and  seclusion,  have  hardly  an  idea  what  the  word 
saison  means  in  our  good  German  tongue. 

Hugo.  It  is  quite  two  months,  Gnadiges  Fraulein, 
that  I  have  done  what  you  might  really  call  sleeping. 

Kurt.    And  that  was  on  a  billiard  table. 

LoTHAR.  Oh,  our  respected  Kurt  meant  that  as 
a  joke!  But  if  you  knew  what  it  meant  to  be  a 
martyr  to  amusement,  you  would  understand  what 
we  mean. 

Leonore.  I  have  made  such  an  efTort  to  under- 
stand you  that  I  already  begin  to  feel  sorry  for  you. 

Hugo.  {Aside  to  Lothar)  I  believe  the  girl  is 
making  fun  of  us. 

Lothar.  {Aside,  arrogantly)  Every  woman 
tries  to  be  a  coquette. 

Kurt.  {Who  has  gone  over  to  Lenore,  aside) 
You  don't  need  to  be  so  disagreeable. 

Leonore.     {Rocking)     Hm?    {Goes  on  reading) 


46  HONOR. 

LoTHAR.  Might  I  ask  what  it  is  that  takes  so 
much  of  the  Gnadiges  Fraulein's  attention. 

Kurt.  (To  himself)  If  he  would  only  let  her 
be! 

Leonore.  Something  that  would  hardly  be  of  in- 
terest to  the  martyrs  of  amusement — for  it  concerns 
the  martyrs  of  labor. 

Lothar.    Ah,  I  see. 

Hugo.  (Getting  up)  But  weren't  we  going  to 
see  the  horse? 

Lothar.  Ah  yes !  you  two  go  ahead — The  mar- 
tyrs of  labor  interest  me  more  than  the  Gnadiges 
Fraulein  believes. 

Kurt.     (To  himself)     Oh,  the  poor  devil ! 

Hugo.     Good  heavens ! 

Kurt.     Come,  Stengel,  come!     (They  go  out) 

Leonore.  (Looking  impatiently  at  the  clock)  In 
what  way  can  I  be  of  service  to  you,  Herr  Brandt? 

Lothar.  Gnadiges  F'raulein,  I  very  much  regret 
that  you  quite  misunderstand  me,  for  although  I  ad- 
mit that  I 

Leonore.  And  in  order  to  prove  that,  you  are 
willing  to  waste 

Lothar.    A  moment,  please ! 

Leonore.     (Aside)     A  proposal! 

Lothar.  My  faults  may  be  without  number,  but, 
Gnadiges  Fraulein,  I  am  a  man  of  honor. 

Leonore.  I  should  think  that  that  was  to  be 
taken  for  granted  from  the  son  of  a  respectable 
family,  Herr  Brandt,  and  as  little  worthy  of  praise 
as  the  fact  that  he  wears  a  well-cut  coat. 

Lothar.    Then  you  respect  honor  no  more  ? 

Leonore.  Pardon  me.  I  meant  no  disrespect  to 
the  ill-clad.  But  one  doesn't  bring  them  into  the 
porlor.  But  I  interrupted  you,  Herr  Brandt.  Per- 
haps I  do  misunderstand  you.     Please  continue. 

Lothar.  I  must  admit,  Gnadiges  Fraulein,  you 
have  intimidated  me.  And  that  is  something !  For 
what  is  a  man  without  courage? 


HONOR.  47 

Leonore.  Ah,  that  is  another  thin^.  Courage, 
I  can  respect !  But  what  have  you  done  so  far  that 
has  shown  your  courage  ? 

LoTHAR.  Ask  my  friends.  That  at  least  is  above 
reproach. 

Leonore.  In  other  words,  you  have  fought  a 
duel. 

LoTHAR.  One  doesn't  discuss  such  things  before 
ladies. 

Leonore.  But  we  hear  about  them  just  the  same. 
We  are  here  to  offer  the  victor  his  laurels.  Did  you 
ever  break  a  lance  in  defence  of  a  conviction  which 
you  know  in  your  heart  you  yourself  have  violated? 

LoTHAR.  {Indignantly)  How  can  you  ask  that  ? 
Such  a  thing  could  never  occur  to  me ! 

Leonore.  Or  have  you  never  silently  borne  an 
unworthy  suspicion? 

Lothar.     I?    Silently?    On  the  contrary. 

Leonore.    Never? 

LoTHAR.    Never,  Fraulein. 

Leonore.  Then  one  can't  be  absolutely  certain 
about  your  courage,  Herr — may  I  say  Lieuten- 
ant?—  {She  rises)  First  the  test,  and  then  per- 
haps we  can  discuss  the  matter  further. 

LoTHAR.     {Trying  to  hold  her  back)    Fraulein — 

{Enter  Wilhelm.) 

WiLHELM.  Will  the  gentlemen  step  in  here  a 
moment? 

Leonore.    At  last ! 

(Robert  and  the  Count  enter;  Lenore  runs  to 
meet  Robert.) 

Trast.  {To  himself)  So  that's  the  story !  {To 
the  servant  who  is  about  to  go  out)  Here,  come 
here!  {He  takes  one  of  the  cards  from  the  tray 
and  puts  it  in  his  pocket) 


48  HONOR. 

LoTHAR.  {Looking  at  Robert  and  Leonore) 
What  does  that  mean  ? 

Trast.     My  card  is  enough. 

{The  servant  goes  out.) 

Robert.  Leonore,  I've  brought  Count  Trast,  my 
benefactor  and  my  best  friend. 

Leonore.  {Remembering  I^otuar)  The  gentle- 
men will  permit  me  to  introduce  Herr  Lothar 
Brandt?  Herr  Count  von  Trast — Herr  Robert 
Heinecke,  a  playmate  of  my  childhood. 

LoTHAR.  (7^0  himself)  She  introduces  me  to 
Alm.a's  brother— That  is  fine ! — The  gentlemen  will 
pardon  me,  but  my  friends — {Stutters  and  clears 
his  throat) 

Trast.     Are  waiting  for  you,  eh  ? 

LoTHAR.  {Staring  at  him)  Exactly!  {As  he 
goes)  What  sort  of  a  count  is  he?  {Turns  at  the 
door  and  bows  stiffly,  clicking  his  heels  and  goes 
out) 

Leonore.  You  have  been  away  from  home  a 
long  time,  Herr  Count? 

Trast.  I  have  inhabited  the  tropics  for  a  quar- 
ter centuiy. 

Leonore.     For  pleasure? 

Trast.  As  much  as  possible.  Meanwhile  I  have 
been  speculator  in  coffee,  cloves  and  ivory,  and  ele- 
phant-hunter. 

Leonore.  {Laughing)  In  which  of  your  many 
capacities  am  I  to  welcome  you  then,  you  many- 
gifted  man? 

Trast.  You  may  take  your  choice,  Gnadiges 
Fraulein. 

WiLHELM.  {At  the  door)  The  Herr  Councillor 
is  at  your  disposal. 

Robert.    I  must 

Trast.  {To  Robert)  Stay  where  you  are.  I 
have  something  to  say  to  the  manager  first.  {To 
Leonore)     For  ten  years,  he  has  been  singing  your 


HONOR.  49 

praises ;  shouldn't  you  take  the  trouble  to  listen  to 
ten  minutes'  praise  of  me? 

Leonore.  {Shaking  her  finger  at  Trast)  You 
are  an  old  rogue ! 

Trast.  A  rogue  in  your  own  service!  {He  goes 
out) 

Leonore.  {Taking  Robert's  hand)  At  last  I 
have  you  here  again ! 

Robert.  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  for  those  words. 

Leonore.  Oh,  how  polite  we  are! — My  words 
aren't  alms!  Come  here.  (Leads  him  to  the  fire- 
place) Sit  down — here  by  the  fire — beside  me. 
You  mustn't  freeze  in  cold  Germany! — Wait,  I'll 
start  up  the  fire !  {She  blows  zvith  the  bellows) 
These  fireplaces  are — impractical  things— most  im- 
practical, but  anyway  we  can  chat  in  front  of  it.  In 
India  you  don't  need  fireplaces,  do  you?  {To  her- 
self) I'm  so  happy ! — Oh,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again. 
And  now,  out  with  the  "  but  "  that  you  have  up 
your  sleeve.    I'll  parry  it. 

Robert.     Don't  make  my  heart  too  heavy. 

Leonore.    That's  the  last  thing  I  want  to  do. 

Robert.  But  that's  what  you're  doing  when  you 
conjure  up  this  ghost  of  a  happiness  that  is  now  for- 
ev^er  buried. 

Leonore.  Oh,  if  you  were  only  as  you  used  to  be. 

Robert.  So  I  am.  Heaven  knows ! — but  there  is 
a  gulf  between  us ! 

Leonore.    Then  there  was — yes ! 

Robert.  God  ! — you  must  understand  me !  I 
cana't  say  what's  in  my  heart — do  you  remember 
what  you  said  to  me  when  we  parted  ? 

Leonore.    Well  ? 

Robert.    You  said:   "  Be  true  to  me,  Robert." 

Leonore.    Is  that  what  I  said?    Exactly  that? 

Robert.    Such  a  thing  one  doesn't  forget. 

Leonore.  They  had  forbidden  us  to  call  each 
other  bv  our  first  names. 


50  HONOR.  ' 

Robert.    But  you  did  it  just  the  same. 

Leonore.    And  why  don't  we  do  it  any  more  ? 

Robert.    You  are  playing  with  me. 

Leonore.  You  are  right,  my  friend.  And  I 
must  not  do  it.  It  would  look  like  coquetry,  al- 
though it  is  nothing  but  the  joy  of  seeing  you  again. 
You  have  shown  me  plainly  enough  that  the  dream 
of  our  childhood  is  over. 

Robert.  It  must  be.  Your  father  lifted  me  out 
of  the  gutter  in  a  moment  of  overflov.'ing  generosity. 
Everything  that  I  think  and  know  and  feel  I  must 
thank  him  for.  And  for  that  very  reason  I  have 
lost  the  right  of  independent  action.  I  am  a  depend- 
ent of  this  house,  and  have  not  the  right  to  approach 
its  young  mistress— in  any  way  whatever. 

Leonore.  Your  own  pride  punishes  your  lying 
words ! 

Robert.  Perhaps  it  is  my  pride  that  forces  me 
to  accept  this  position  ! 

Leonore.  And  you  are  not  willing  to  sacrifice  a 
little  of  it  for  my  sake? 

Robert.  Don't  torture  me !  It  isn't  that  alone ! 
Only  think  what  I  am  suffering.  For  the  first  time, 
this  moment,  when  I  sit  opposite  you,  do  I  realize 
anything  like  a  home-coming!  But  I  would  be  ter- 
ribly selfish  if  I  allovred  myself  to  admit  this  feel- 
ing. Back  there  in  the  alley  is  my  family ! — Father, 
mother,  sister — and  this  family — is  my  family !  Oh, 
I  tell  you  things  have  happened  back  there  that  you 
in  your  goodness  can't  even  imagine. 

Leonore.  My  dear  friend,  one  doesn't  have  to 
go  to  India  to  become  estranged  from  one's  family. 

Robert.    You,  too? 

Leonore.  It  is  better  not  to  speak  of  it.  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  am  even  more  of  an  outcast 
than  you.  I  have  lost  all  sense  of  duty.  A  sort  of 
gloomy  ill-will  has  come  over  me  and  now  it  is  al- 
most arrogance — towards  my  own  people  and  all 


HONOR.  51 

the  others  about  them — aand  I'm  not  arrogant  or 

proud  by  nature !    Tell  me,  what  is  it  that ? 

Robert.    Shh ! 

(Trast  and  Muhlingk  enter  at  the  right.) 

MuHLiNGK.  (To  Trast)  Well,  until  to-morrow 
then.  Count. — Ah,  there  is  the  young  man.  {Ex- 
tending his  hand)  Welcome,  welcome,  do  you  want 
to  go  ver  the  report  at  once? 

Robert.  I  only  came  to  present  my  respects, 
Herr  Councillor,  my  papers  aren't  unpacked  yet. 

MuHLiNGK.  Well,  well,  there's  no  hurry.  But 
what  are  you  doing  here,  Leonore  ? 

Leonore.  I  simply  wanted  to  say  how  d'ye  do  to 
Robert. 

MuHLiNGK.  Mm — But  you  know  that  Mama 
has  been  asking  for  you.  Come,  young  man,  I  have 
plans  for  you;  plans.  You  know,  Count,  we  have 
no  secrets  from  you. 

Trast.  You  can  get  to  know  him  better  if  you 
are  alone  with  him.  (To  Robert)  I'll  wait  for 
you  here. 

Leonore.  (Shaking  Robert's  hand)  Au  revoir, 
Robert. 

MuHLiNGK.  Hm !  (Reprovingly.  He  goes  out 
with  Robert) 

Leonore.    Count,  you  heard — ?    I  must  go. 

Trast.  Gnadiges  Fraulein !  (Leonore  goes  to 
door,  he  watches  her,  she  turns  and  he  shakes  his 
finger  at  her) 

Leonore.  (Surprised)  What  do  you  mean, 
Count  ? 

Trast.     Hm — I  mean!     (He  claps  his  hands) 

Leonore.     And  what  does  that  mean? 

Trast.  That  means — (Through  his  hands) 
Bravo ! 

Leonore.  (Dignified)  I  don't  understand  you, 
Count — ah !     (Shg  bursts  out  laughing  and  goes  up 


52  HONOR. 

frankly  and  puts  out  her  hand)  Yes,  I  do  under- 
stand. 

Trast.  {Taking  her  hand  in  both  his)  That's 
better. 

Leonore.     Count ! 

Trast.  Fraulein!  (Leonore  ^ro ^5  ouf)  She's  a 
splendid  specimen — that  girl !  I'll  let  her  have  him. 
He  must  have  her. 

{Enter  Kurt.) 

Kurt.  {To  Stengel  who  is  coming  in)  Cour- 
age, courage,  my  boy  !    Come  in. 

Trast.  {Recognizing  Kurt  as  he  comes  in  with 
Brandt)     He — here! 

Kurt.  {Sees  Trast;  startled,  goes  up  to  him,  in 
a  lozv  voice)     You  wished  to  see  me,  sir? 

Trast.    No,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 

Kurt.    With  whom  have  I  the  honor ? 

Trast.    Count  Trast. 

Kurt.  {Astonished  and  very  polite)  Ah,  we 
may  thank — thank — our  employe — er — our — a  trav- 
eling acquaintanceship,  I  suppose — for  this  visit? 

Trast.    You  are  the  son  of  the  house? 

Kurt.  I  beg  your  pardon,  yes !  At  your  service ! 
Naturally — ah.  Count,  we  are  both  men-of-the 
world  enough  to  forget  the  affair  of  last  night. 

Trast.    You  think  so? 

Kurt.  The  girl  is  nice,  I  ought  to  know  if  any- 
one does.  All  honor  to  your  good  taste.  But  you 
must  admit  that  I  was  in  the  right.  I  hope  there 
will  be  no  rivalry  ? 

Trast.  Especially,  as  the  girl's  brother  is  the 
best  friend  I  have? 

Kurt.  {Frightened,  controls  himself,  then,  after 
a  pause)     What  do  you  intend  to  do? 

Trast.  I  have  not  decided  as  yet.  If  I  can  dis- 
suade him  from  his  imaginary  duties  to  your  house, 
and  if  I  find  you  prepared  to  break  off  all  further 
relationship,  then  perhaps  I  can  remain  silent. 


HONOR.  53 

Kurt.    And  otherwise? 

Trast.  That  would  be  a  matter  for  Herr 
Heiiiecke  to  settle. 

Kurt.  Do  you  think  I  would  accept  a  challenge 
from  my  clerk  ? 

Trast.    Your  what  ?— Oh,  I  see. 

Kurt.    Count,  do  what  you  please. 

Trast.  That  is  a  habit  of  mine.  Herr  Heinecke 
is  at  this  moment  in  your  father's  office.  Permit  me 
to  remain  here  a  fev/  minutes  in  order  that  I  may 
shorten  your  meeting.  I  should  like  to  prevent  you 
two  from  shaking  hands. 

Kurt.    The  room  is  yours,  Count. 

Trast.  I  thank  you.  {They  separate,  and  Trast 
looks  at  the  pictures.  Kurt  walks  excitedly  away 
from  the  others) 

LoTHAR.  {To  Hugo)  What  happened  between 
those  two?  \i  I  remember  rightly  there  was  a 
Count  Trast  in  our  regiment  who  came  to  a  bad  end. 
Wait  a  moment. 

Hugo.  {Nervously)  You  aren't  going  to  start 
a  quarrel? 

LoTHAR.  Why  not?  The  other  fellow  has  some 
scheme.  {He  approaches  Trast)  The  Count  seems 
to  like  solitude. 

Trast.     {Turning)     Decidedly! 

LoTHAR.     That  is  rather  impolite. 

Trast.  {Looking  at  him  squarely)  Ah!  you 
seem  to  be  carrying  your  sense  of  honor  on  your 
shoulder,  Herr — er — pardon  ! 

LoTHAR.  My  name  is  Lothar  Brandt  and  I  feel 
that  it  is  necessary  to  add  that  I  am  Lieutenant  of 
the  Reserves  in  the  Cuirassier  Regiment  "  Crown 
Prince." 

Trast.     {Politely)     Is  that  all? 

LoTiiAR.     {Threateningly)     Is  that  all.  Count? 

Trast.  Pardon  me !  One  serves  in  the  Reserves 
during  war  time  only.  When  I  came  back  I  hoped 
that  I  could  live  in  peace. 


54  HONOR. 

LoTiiAR.  You  are  mistaken,  Count,  one  serves  in 
the  Reserves  during  the  rifle  practice,  as  well. 

Trast.     Do  you  need  me  for  rifle  practice? 

LoTHAR.  Permit  me,  Count,  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion. 

Trast.    With  pleasure. 

LoTHAR.  In  the  regiment  to  which  it  is  my  great 
honor  to  belong  there  was  formerly  a  young  fellow 
who  bore  the  same  name  as  yours. 

Trast.    Ah?    Then  it  was  probably  1. 

LoTiiAR.  (Sharply)  The  man  left  the  army  un- 
der a  cloud. 

Trast.  Exactly!  Exactly!  (Very  polite)  And 
if  you  wish  to  say  in  other  words,  that  when  we 
meet  on  the  street  you  don't  care  to  recognize  me — I 
release  you  from  the  necessity  of  greeting — I  can  do 
without  it.  (BozL's  and  picks  up  a  portfolio  which 
he  examines) 

Hugo.  (Enthusiastically)  Well,  /  was  never 
despatched  as  elegantly  as  that.  (He  approaches 
Trast  and  bows  deeply) — Permit  me — my  name  is 
Stengel ! 

Trast.     (Turning)     Charmed! 

Hugo.    Stengel!     (Trast  bows — they  talk) 

Kurt.  (Comes  forward  and  joins  Lothar) 
Man,  what  are  you  trying  to  do.  That's  the  al- 
mighty firm  of  Trast  and  Company. — Do  you  want 
to  ruin  your  father's  business? 

LoTHAR.  (Dismayed)  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
before? 

Kurt.  Whatever  happens  we  must  straighten  the 
matter  out. 

Lothar.    If  you  can  do  it  in  perfectly  good  form. 

Kurt.  Pardon  me.  Count — my  friend  re- 
grets  

Lothar.    Regrets  is  hardly  the  word,  Kurt. 

Kurt.     (Stuttering)     Well — er — er 

Trast.  Perhaps  our  friend  would  like  to  con- 
sider our  little  conversation  as  not  having  taken 
place  ? 


HONOR.  55 

LoTHAR.    We  can  go  as  far  as  that  at  least,  Kurt. 

Trast.  1  must  keep  pace  with  his  generosity, 
and — express  the  same  desire. 

Kurt.    Then  the  matter  is  settled. 

LoTHAR.  And  I  take  the  liberty  to  express  my 
pleasure  at  meeting  personally,  the  man  whose  work 
I  have  respected  for  so  many  years. 

Trast.  {Very  politely)  You  see,  Lieutenant, 
that  it  was  not  entirely  superfluous  when  I  asked 
"  Is  that  all?"  As  business  men,  we  can  under- 
stand each  other  perfectly.  Gentlemen,  Herr 
Brandt  Junior,  heir  to  the  worthy  firm  of  importers, 
Brandt  and  Stengel,  with  which  I  am  pleased  to 
have  business  relations,  has  just  given  me  a  little 
statement  in  private  on  the  theme  of  "  Honor." 
Permit  me  to  make  the  answer  public.  (They  sit 
down)  In  confidence,  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
honor.  (All  are  astonished)  Don't  be  frightened. 
It  won't  hurt  you. 

LoTHAR.    And  what  we  call  honor? 

Trast.  What  we  commonly  call  honor  is  nothing 
more  than  the  shadow  we  throw  in  the  sunlight  of 
publicity.  But  the  worst  part  of  it  is  that  we  have 
as  many  kinds  of  honor  as  we  have  business  circles 
and  strata.   How  can  one  find  his  way  among  them  ? 

LoTHAR.  (Sharply)  You  are  mistaken,  Count. 
There  is  only  one  honor,  just  as  there  is  only  one 
sun  and  one  God.  One  must  feel  that — or  he  is  no 
gentleman. 

Trast.  Hm ! — Permit  me  to  tell  you  a  little  tale. 
In  a  journey  through  Central  Asia  I  stopped  at  the 
house  of  a  Thibetan  Chief.  I  was  dusty  and  foot- 
sore. He  received  me,  sitting  on  his  throne.  Be- 
side him  was  his  charming  little  wife.  "  Rest  your- 
self, traveler,"  he  said  to  me,  "  my  wife  will  prepare 
you  a  bath  and  then  we  men  shall  dine  together." 
And  he  gave  me  over  to  his  young  wife. — Gcntle- 
meen,  if  ever  in  my  life  my  self-control  was  i)ut  to 
test  it  was  in  that  hour — And  when  I  returned  to 


56  HONOR. 

the  hall,  what  did  I  find?  The  attendants  under 
arms,  threatening  voices  and  half-drawn  swords. 
"  You  must  die !  "  cried  my  host,  "  you  have  given  a 
deadly  insult  to  the  honor  of  my  house.  You  have 
scorned  to  accept  the  most  sacred  thing  I  could  offer 
you." — You  see,  gentlemen,  I  am  still  living,  for 
eventually  the  deficient  sense  of  honor  of  the  bar- 
baric European  was  forgiven.  {They  laugh)  If 
you  happen  to  know  any  of  our  modern  writers  on 
the  theme  of  adultery  you  might  tell  them  this 
story. 

{All  laugh,  and  move  gradually  towards  the  left.) 

Trast.  {Continuing)  Gentlemen,  I  don't  want 
to  be  considered  immoral.  The  study  of  the  puzzles 
of  civilization  is  a  thing  apart. — You  see  it  lies  in 
the  nature  of  your  so-called  honor,  that  it  may  only 
be  possessed  by  the  certain  few,  the  demi-gods ;  for 
it  is  an  emotional  luxury  that  loses  value  in  direct 
proportion  as  it  is  appropriated  by  the  rabble. 

Kurt.  But  that  is  a  paradox,  Cotmt.  Is  it  not 
permitted  to  everyone  to  be  a  man  of  honor? 

Trast.  On  the  contray.  Then  the  poorest  devil 
in  the  alley  might  dispute  the  honor  of  a  gentle- 
man.    (Kurt  is  perplexed) 

LoTHAR.  If  he  acts  according  to  honor,  then  he 
must  be  a  gentleman. 

Trast.  Hm!  Really?  May  I  tell  you  another, 
a  shorter  story? — But  I  am  afraid  I'm  boring  you. 

Lothar  a;?(i  Hugo.     {Laughing)     No! — No! 

Trast.  It  took  place  somewhere  in  South  Amer- 
ica— the  Spaniards  are  the  aristocrats  there, — the 
population  is  a  mixture  of  negroes,  Indians,  and  a 
sort  of  white  trash.  A  product  of  this  mixed  race, 
— his  name  was — hm — Pepe — had  the  opportunity 
of  being  transported  to  the  Spanish  mother  country 
where  he  {Breathes  on  his  left  elhotv)  absorbed  a 
little  of  the  pure  Castillan  sense  of  honor.  (Robert 
enters  without  being  heard  and  listens)     When  he 


HONOR.  57 

came  back,  after  several  years,  he  found  his  Httle 
sister  on  all  too  intimate  terms  with  a  young  aris- 
tocrat— Gentleman,  we  mustn't  get  angry.  Con- 
sidering her  origin  it  was  the  girl's  destiny.  But  the 
young  fellow  dared  to  attempt  to  avenge  his  sister's 
honor,  not  as  a  mestizo  but  as  a  Hidalgo ! 

Kurt.     {In  a  hurt  voice)    Listen,  that  means  me  ! 

Trast.  You  see,  gentlemen,  that  was  madness 
and  he  was  treated  as  a  madman.  Then  the  fellow 
showed  his  real  nature.  Like  a  thug  he  waited  for 
the  young  nobleman  and  he  shot  him  down.  He 
was  sentenced,  and  even  under  the  very  gallows  the 
fool  declared," — his  name  was  Pepe — that  he  was 
dying  for  his  honor.    Gentlemen,  isn't  that  absurd? 

Robert.  (IVho  has  made  his  appearance  unob- 
served) You  are  mistaken,  my  friend!  This  fool 
was  right.  I  should  have  acted  exactly  the  same 
way. 

Trast.  Oh,  oh,  it's  you!  (Going  quickly  to  him) 
You  don't  know  these  people !  Don't  look  around. 
Come  with  me.     (Draivs  him  toward  the  door) 

Robert.     Isn't  that  Kurt? 

Trast.  They  are  strangers. — Come.  You  will 
excuse  me,  gentlemen?  We  are  in  a  hurry.  Good- 
bye. 

Lothar.  (To  Kurt)  Now,  I'll  settle  him.  (To 
Trast)  Permit  me  just  one  more  question,  Count. 
(Affectedly)  If  you  intend  to  do  away  with  honor 
entirely ;  what  do  you  expect  gentlemen  of  honor  to 
put  in  its  place? 

Trast.  (Straightening  up)  Duty,  j'oung  man — 
(To  himselj)  This  is  certainly  unpleasant.  Gen- 
tlemen  

Kurt.  (As  Trast  and  Robert  are  about  to 
leave)     It  was  a  great  honor  to  our  house,  Count. 

Robert.  Pardon  me,  but  you  are  Herr  Kurt 
Muhlingk? 

Kurt.    That  is  my  name  ? 

Robert.    (Confused)   But — aren't — ?  Of  course, 


58  HONOR. 

you  don't  recognize  me!     I  am — {He  is  about  to 
offer  his  hand  to  Kurt) 

Trast.  (Stepping  between)  You  don't  shake 
hands  with  this  man. 

Robert.  {Looks  about  confused,  stares  at  Kurt, 
then  at  Trast,  then  at  Kurt  again,  gives  a  little  cry, 
then  controls  himself)  I  should  hke  to  have  a  word 
with  you — Herr  Muhhngk— in  private. 

Kurt.  As  you  see,  I  have  some  guests  here  now, 
but  in  an  hour  I  shall  be  at  your  service. 

Robert.    In  an  hour,  Herr  Muhlingk ! 

Trast.  {To  himself)  He  found  out  quickly 
enough ! 

(Trast  and  Robert  go  to  the  door  as 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS.) 


ACT  III. 

Scene: — The  same  as  in  Act  L  A  lamp  is  burning 
on  the  table.  Daylight  is  coming  through  the 
zvindozv.  Upstage  to  the  left  is  a  bed,  turned 
down.  It  has  not  been  slept  in.  Robert  sits 
at  the  table  his  face  in  his  hands. 

{Enter  Frau  Heinecke  in  night-cap  and  wearing  a 
woollen  underskirt.) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Good-morning,  my  son!  {He 
does  not  answer)  Poor  thing!  he  ain't  even  been  to 
bed!     {Goes  to  him,  wiping  her  eyes)     Bobby! 

Robert.  {Starts  up)  What  is  it?  What  do  you 
want  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Lord,  how  you  yell  at  me !  And 
your  teeth  are  chattering  with  cold!  Won't  you 
drink  some  coffee?  {He  shakes  his  head  decisively) 
Take   a  little  piece  of  advice  from  your  old  mother. 


HONOR.  59 

Bobby;  even  if  a  person  is  in  trouble,  he's  got  to 
sleep.  Sleep  puts  marrow  in  the  bones.  {Puts  out 
the  lamp) 

Robert.     Mother,  Mother,  what  have  you  done? 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Crying)  We  aren't  to  blame, 
my  boy ! 

Robert.     Not  to  blame ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  I  brought  her  up  honorably. 
There  has  never  been  a  bad  example  in  this  house. 
I  kept  her  at  her  schooling  and  I  had  her  confirmed, 
though  that  ain't  even  necessary  any  more.  She 
went  up  to  the  altar  in  a  new  black  pleated  dress.  I 
bought  it  myself  at  a  bargain,  and  I  put  my  own 
wedding  handkerchief  into  her  hand,  and  the 
preacher  spoke  so  movin',  so  movin'. 

Robert.  But  how  could  you  allow  her  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  that — fellow  ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Perhaps  it  wasn't  really  so 
bad 

Robert.  What  further  proof  do  you  want? 
Didn't  he  admit  everything  to  me  with  the  most 
brutal  frankness  ?  Or  did  Alma  try  to  lie  about  it  ? 
And  to  cap  the  climax,  last  evening  I  was  in 
Michalski's  house.  Everything  was  beautifully  ar- 
ranged. Your  dear  daughter  Auguste  had  prepared 
a  secret  nest,  with  curtains  and  carpets  and  red 
hanging  lamps.  She  kept  watch  at  the  door  her- 
self and  was— paid,  paid  for  it !  The  cur  was  in  my 
hands  yesterday.     If  I  had  only  finished  him  then ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Why,  Robert 

Robert.  Be  still !  He  promised  satisfaction.  I 
accomplished  that  much  at  least.  He  saw  I  was 
ready  for  anything.  He  said  he  would  find  means 
of  giving  n-e  satisfaction  by  to-day.  I  thought  of 
the  poor  little  girl's  future  and  let  him  go. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Well,  I  never  suspected  any- 
thing wrong. 

Robert.    You  must  have  seen  it  coming.     What 


6o  HONOR. 

did  you  think  when  he  brought  her  home  so  late  at 
night  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  When  a  person  is  asleep,  he's 
glad  enough  he  don't  have  to  think.  Besides,  she 
had  a  latchkey. 

Robert.  But  you  couldn't  neglect  the  fact  that  if 
he  brought  her  home  he  must  have  met  her  some- 
where in  the  city. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Well,  yes.  I  thought  she  was 
going  with  him. 

Robert.     I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 

Frau  Heinecke.     She  was  going  with  him. 

Robert.    So  you  said,  but  I 

Frau  Heinecke.  Just  like  any  young  girl  goes 
with  a  young  gentleman. 

Robert.    Goes  ?    Where  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  To  concerts,  to  restaurants — 
If  he's  got  money,  to  the  theater,  and  in  summer  to 
Grunewald  *  or  Treptow.* 

Robert.    Alone  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Alone?  (Clacks  her  tongue) 
No !    With  the  young  man ! 

Robert.    I  meant :  without  her  parents  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Certainly.  Or  do  you  expect 
the  old  mother  is  going  to  toddle  after  the  young 
ones  on  her  weak  legs. 

Robert.  IMm !  So  you  knew  she  "  went  "  with 
him? 

Frau  Heinecke.    No,  I  just  thought  so. 

Robert.     And  when  you  asked  her? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Why  should  I  ask?  That 
would  only  be  wasting  breath.  A  girl  ought  to 
know  herself  what's  good  for  her. 

Robert.    Oh ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  But  that  she — oh,  who'd  have 
thought  it !  Lord,  how  you  tremble.  I  must  get  this 
room  warm  for  you.     (Goes  to  stove) 

•Suburbs  of   Berlin. — Tr. 


HONOR.  6i 

Robert.  (To  himself)  No  way  out!  No  way 
to  save  things  !    Shame  ! — a  life  of  shame ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Into  the  kitchen)  Father, 
bring  in  some  coke!  (Kneels  and  shakes  down  the 
fire) 

Robert.  (To  himself)  What  sort  of  satisfac- 
tion can  he  have  meant?  Marriage?  (He  laughs) 
And  if  it  came  to  that,  I'm  not  sure  whether  I 
should  want  marriage  for  her.  At  least  there  is  the 
chance  of  a  duel.  If  he  shoots  me  down,  then  I'm 
saved.  But — what  will  become  of  these?  (Ges- 
ture) 

(Enter   Heinecke   in   a    torn   dressing-gown,   and 
large  felt  slippers,  he  carries  a  basket  of  coke.) 

Heinecke.     (Gruffly)     Good-morning. 
Robert.     Good-morning,  Father. 
Heinecke.     (Muttering)     Yes,  yes- 


Frau  Heinecke.  Quit  grumbling,  Father.  Help 
me  make  a  fire. 

Heinecke.  Yes — Yes,  we'll  make  a  fire.  (They 
both  kneel  before  the  stove) 

Robert.  (To  himself)  And  if  I  kill  him?  I'll 
admit  that  would  be  a  relief !  But  the  question  re- 
mains: what  will  become  of  them?  Looking  toward 
his  parents)  I'm  afraid  that  I  can't  afford  the  lux- 
ury of  a  sense  of  honor.  (Crying  out)  Oh,  how 
vile  I  am ! 

Heinecke.     Something  wrong,  my  boy? 

Frau  Heinecke.  It's  because  of  Alma.  He 
hasn't  even  been  to  bed. 

Heinecke.  Yes,  Alma!  That's  what  a  man 
grows  gray  in  honor  for.  But  I  always  said  it :  the 
Avenue'U  bring  us  trouble  some  day. 

Frau  Heinecke.  (To  Heinecke)  Father, 
don't  cry!     (They  embrace) 

Robert.  (To  himself)  But  someone's  heart 
must  break ! 


62  HONOR. 

Heinecke.  Oh,  I'm  not  crying!  I'm  master  of 
this  house!  I  know  what  I've  got  to  do!  Poor 
cripple  has  his  honor,  too.  Think  I'll  stand  for  it! 
My  daughter!  She'll  see!  {Swinging  the  poker) 
I'll  give  her  my  curse !    My  paternal  curse ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Arranging  the  bed)  Now, 
now,  now 

Heinecke.  Yes,  you !  You  don't  understand 
anything  about  honor.  {Strikes  his  breast)  There 
lies  honor !  Out  into  the  streets  she'll  go  !  Out  into 
the  night  and  the  storm  ! 

Robert.  Do  you  want  her  to  be  absolutely 
ruined  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  Let  him  talk,  he  don't  mean 
anything. 

Robert.  Won't  you  see  where  she  is  ?  I  suppose 
she's  ashamed  to  show  herself. 

Frau  Heinecke.    She  wanted  to  sleep. 

Robert.    Oh ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {She  goes  to  the  bed-room 
door)    Alma!     {No  answer) 

Robert.  Oh,  she  never  should  have  been  left 
alone. 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Opens  the  door)  Just  as  I 
said,  she's  asleep. 

Robert.    She  can  sleep ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Will  you  get  up,  you  worthless 
girl? 

Heinecke.     Come,  get  up,  or  there'll  be  trouble. 

Robert.  Father,  Mother,  quick,  before  she 
comes !  Don't  be  too  hard  with  her.  It  will  only 
make  her  more  stubborn. 

Frau  Heinecke.  You  are  a  good  deal  more 
clever  than  your  old  mother,  but  just  the  same  I 
know  how  to  take  care  of  my  children.  I'll  keep  her 
like  in  a  reform-school  if  it  breaks  my  heart : — 
cleaning  boots,  peeling  potatoes,  cleaning  floors, 
scrubbing  steps,  she's  got  to  do  it  all. 

Robert.   And  suppose  she  runs  away  some  night  ? 


HONOR.  63 

Heinecke.  Pah,  she'll  be  locked  up.  I'll  have 
the  key  in  my  pocket.    How'Il  she  run  away  then? 

Robert.  But  think,  she  is  only  a  child !  And  the 
rest  are  more  to  blame  than  she.  Her  own  sister — 
Ah,  if  you  want  to  be  severe  you  ought  to  be  severe 
with  that  damned  procuress ! — I  hope  I  can  demand 
once  for  all  that  Alma  be  taken  absolutely  away 
from  under  the  influence  of  her  sister  and  that  you'll 
show  Auguste  and  her  husband  the  door ! 

Heinecke.  Certainly,  we'll  make  a  clean  sweep 
of  that  outfit.  I've  had  enough  of  Michalski.  Now 
you  see,  Mother,  Robert  has  to  come  all  the  way 
from  India  to  say  it !  You  haven't  any  respect  for 
me,  poor  old  man  ! 

Robert.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Father — this  doesn't 
concern  you. 

FIeinecke.    Just  the  same 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Her  apron  over  her  face) 
But  she  is  my  child,  too !  And  I  love  all  my  chil- 
dren the  same ! 

Robert.  Even  if  they  aren't  worthy  of  your 
love  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.     Then  all  the  more. 

Robert.     Shh ! 
(Alma  appears  in  the  bed-room  door  dressed  in  a 
nightgown  and  a  white  underskirt,  her  hair  is 
down  and  she  looks  fearfully  from  one  to  the 
other.) 

Heinecke.    Hoho! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Wringing  her  hands)  Child! 
child,  is  this  our  reward?  Haven't  I  done  every- 
thing in  the  world  for  you?  Haven't  I  kept  you 
like  a  princess  ?  But  now  it's  over.  What  are  you 
standing  there  for?  Get  a  broom!  Sweep  the 
room ! 

(Alma  slips  past  her  with  her  elbows  up,  as  if  fear- 
ing a  blow,  into  the  kitchen.) 

Heinecke.      {Walking  excitedly  up  and  down) 


64  HONOR. 

I'm  your  poor  old  father  and  I  tell  you  I  brought 
you  into  the  world ! — Yes,  an  honest  old  man ! 
That  I  am ! 

(Alma  appears  in  the  kitchen  door  with  broom  and 
dustpan. ) 

Robert.  {To  himself)  How  sweet  she  looks  in 
her  penitence !  and  she 

Frau  Heinecke.    Well,  are  you  going  to  begin? 

Heinecke.  {Ceremoniously)  Alma,  my  daugh- 
ter, come  here — close  ! 

Alma.     Please,  please,  don't  strike  me. 

Heinecke.  That  is  the  least  I'll  do!  I'm  an 
honest  old  man !  Yes,  here  lies  honor !  Do  you 
know  what  I'm  going  to  do  with  you  now?  I'm 
going  to  curse  you  !    What  do  you  say  to  that  ? 

Alma.    Go  away — let  me  alone. 

Heinecke.  You  defy  me,  do  you? — you  don't 
know  me  yet !  you  ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Father,  be  still !  she's  got  to 
work. 

Heinecke.  What!  I  can't  be  allowed  to  curse 
my  own  disobedient  child. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Oh,  that  only  happens  in 
books ! 

Heinecke.     Hey? 

Robert.  My  dear  parents !  You  mustn't  go  on 
like  this !  Please  leave  me  alone  with  her  a  moment. 
Meanwhile,  dress.     I  daresay  there  will  be  visitors. 

Heinecke.  And  I'm  not  allowed  to  curse  my — 
Hmm,  wait! 

(Frau  Heinecke  pulls  him  out  of  the  room.) 

Robert.  {To  himself)  Now  I'll  see  what  she 
really  thinks,  and  what  I  have  to  do!  {Softly) 
Come  here,  sister. 

Alma.     Mother  said  I  had  to  clean  the  room. 

Robert.  That  can  wait!  {Takes  her  hand)  You 
don't  need  to  be  afraid  I  won't  strike  you!    And  I 


HONOR.  65 

won't  curse  you,  either.  You  may  be  sure  you  have 
one  good  friend  who  is  wilhng  to  keep  watch  over 
you— a  true  and  considerate  friend. 

Alma.  You  are  too  good — Much  too  good ! 
{She  sinks  down  before  him  weeping) 

Robert.  There,  there— get  up  !  Sit  on  the  foot- 
stool! — There — {She  sits  on  the  stool)  and 
straighten  up,  so  1  can  see  your  eyes.  ( Tries  to  lift 
her  head,  but  she  hides  it  in  her  lap)  You  won't! 
Well,  cry  then !  I  won't  send  you  away  from  here 
— and  you  will  cry  for  many  a  day  and  many  a 
night  when  you  really  understand  what  you  have 
done !  Tell  me,  you  realize,  don't  you,  that  all  the 
rest  of  your  life  must  be  repentance? 

Alma.     Yes,  I  know. 

Robert.  {Takes  her  head  in  his  hands)  Yes, 
yes,  sister,  and  this  is  what  a  man  works  ten  years 
in  a  foreign  country  to  build  up  a  fortune  for — Ten 
long  years !  and  twenty  will  hardly  be  enough  to 
make  us  forget  this  disgrace 

Alma.    In  twenty  years  I'll  be  old. 

Robert.  Old? — What  difference  does  that  make? 
For  us  two  there  is  no  more  youth. 

Alma.    Oh,  God ! 

Robert.  {Springing  up  in  excitement)  Don't  be 
afraid,  we'll  stay  together !  We'll  find  some  hiding 
place ;  like  hunted  animals !  Yes,  that's  what  we 
are!  We've  been  hunted  and  mangled!  (Alma 
sinks  down,  her  face  in  the  empty  chair)  Only  we 
two  can  heal  each  other's  wounds !  You  mine,  and 
I  yours.  {To  himself)  Oh,  how  she  lies  there! 
God  in  Heaven,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do ! — the 
pure  little  child-soul  he  has  trampled  into  the  dirt, 
he  can  never  give  back — other  satisfaction  I  don't 
need  ! — Alma ! 

Alma.     {Sitting  up)     What? 

Robert.    You  really  love  him? 

Alma.    Whom  ? 

Robert.    Whom  ?    Him ! 


66  HONOR. 

Alma.    Oh,  yes. 

Robert.  And  if  you  lost  him  entirely,  would  you 
feel  that  you  could  not  bear  it  at  all  :* 

Alma.    Oh  no ! 

Robert.  Good ! — You  are  a  brave  little  girl ! — 
One  can  learn  to  forget! — One  can  learn — (He  sits 
down)  Above  all,  you  must  work!  The  singing 
nonsense  is  over,  of  course !  You  have  learned 
dressmaking,  you  can  begin  that  again !  But  you 
mustn't  go  back  into  a  shop.  There  are  too  many 
temptations  and  bad  examples  there ! 

Alma.    Yes,  yes,  the  girls  are  bad. 

Robert.  Let  him  among  you  who  is  without 
sin — you  know !  And  least  of  all,  you  !  Where  vve 
shall  go  I  can't  say  as  yet.  I  couldn't  think  of  up- 
rooting our  old  parents ;  otherwise  I  should  take 
them  along.  It  doesn't  matter  where — only  a  long, 
long  way,  where  you  will  belong  only  to  me  and 
your  work — For  you  can  take  my  word  for  it  all — 
tired  is  half-happy! — Mother  and  Father  would  live 
with  us,  and  you  shall  help  me  to  take  care  of  them. 
Besides  your  dressmaking,  you'll  have  to  wash  and 
cook.  Will  you  do  that  and  be  patient  with  Father 
and  Mother? 

Alma.     If  you  want  me  to. 

Robert.  No,  you  must  want  to  with  a  good  will, 
otherwise  it  is  useless.    I  ask  you  again,  will  you  ? 

Alma.  Yes,  from  to-morrow  on,  I'll  do  every- 
thing. 

Robert.  That's  right — but  why  from  to-morrow 
and  not  from  to-day? 

Alma.    Because  to-day  I  was 

Robert.    Well,  well? 

Alma.    Oh,  please 

Robert.     {Kindly)     Out  with  it! 

Alma.  I  wanted — to — go — so  bad — to  the 
masked  ball!  {There  is  a  long  pause,  Robert  gets 
up  and  paces  the  room)     May  I? 

Alma.    May  I  ? 


HONOR.  67 

Robert.    Call  father  and  mother. 

Alma.  Why  not?  (IVhining)  Just  once! 
Can't  a  person  have  just  one  good  time,  if  it's  to  be 
the  last  of  everything. 

Robert.  Do  you  know  what  you're  saying? — 
You 

Alma.  (Arrogantly)  Yes,  I  do  know  what  I'm 
saying !  I'm  not  such  a  little  fool !  I  know  a  few 
things  about  life  myself — What  are  you  so  excited 
about,  anyway?  Isn't  it  a  pretty  hard  lot  when  a 
person  has  to  sit  here  for  nothing?  The  sun  never 
shines  in  an  old  hole  like  this,  nor  the  m.oon  either, 
and  all  you  hear  on  every  side  is  jabbering  and 
scolding! — and  nobody  with  any  decent  manners. 
Father  scolds,  and  mother  scolds — and  you  sew  your 
fingers  bloody! — and  you  get  fifty  pfennigs  a  day 
and  that  don't  even  pay  for  the  kerosene ! — and 
w^hen  you  are  young  and  pretty — and  you  want  to 
have  a  good  time  and  go  in  decent  society  a  little — 
I  was  always  in  favor  of  something  higher — I  al- 
ways liked  to  read  about  it  in  the  stories.  And  as 
for  getting  married?  Who  should  I  marry,  then? 
Such  plebeians  as  those  that  work  down  there  in 
the  factory  don't  interest  me  !  No  siree !  All  they 
can  do  is  drink  up  their  pay  and  come  home  and 
beat  you ! — I  want  a  gentleman  and  if  I  can't  have 
one  I  don't  want  anybody !  And  Kurt  has  always 
treated  me  decently — I  never  learned  any  dirty 
words  from  him,  I'll  tell  you — I've  picked  them  up 
right  here  at  home !  And  I'm  not  going  to  stay 
here,  either !  And  I  don't  need  you  to  take  care  of 
me,  either!    Girls  like  me  don't  starve  to  death! 

Robert.  (Starts  to  speak  then  stops)  Call 
Father  and  mother! 

Alma.  And  now  I'm  going  to  ask  father  if  I — 
(As  he  threatens  her)  Yes,  yes,  I'm  going!  (She 
goes  out) 

Robert.  So  that  is  the  way  it  stands? — That's 
my  sister!    Ah,  what  a  weak  fool  I  was! — Began  to 


68  HONOR. 

sugar  this  indecency  with  poetry  and  sorrow ! — 
That  wasn't  seduction — it  was  in  the  blood ! — Well, 
I  must  act,  now !  Rough  if  need  be,  otherwise 
everything  is  lost. 

{Enter  Frau  Heinecke,  pushing  Alma  before  her, 
Heinecke  follows,  his  mouth  full.) 

Heinecke.    This  impudence! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Masked  balls  cost  money. 
Now,  you'll  stay  at  home. 

Heinecke.  Do  you  deserve  my  curse  or  not?  I 
curse  you  again,  you  toad  ! 

Robert.  Alma,  go  into  the  other  room !  I  have 
something  to  say  to  father  and  mother. 

Frau  Heinecke.  And  don't  slop  around  so! 
Dress  yourself!     The  gray  dress  with  the  patches! 

Alma.     That  old  thing ! 

Heinecke.    Get  out! 

Frau  Heinecke.  And  you  won't  drink  any 
coffee,  either!  Now,  now,  don't  cvy\  {Aside)  It's 
on  the  back  of  the  stove. 

(Alma  goes  out.) 

Robert.  Father,  Mother, — don't  be  angry  with 
me — I — you — there  must  be  a  great  change  in  your 
life. 

Heinecke.     What's  the  matter? 

Robert.  I  am  certain  that  Alma  will  be  abso- 
lutely ruined  if  she  is  not  brought  into  surroundings 
that  make  it  impossible  for  her  to  return  to  her 
previous  life. — But  what  will  become  of  you?  You 
can't  stay  here.  \i  you  did,  you  would  soon  be  a 
prey  to  the  Michalskis.  So  the  long  and  short  of  it 
is — you  must  come  with  me. 

Frau  Heinecke.     {Frightened)     To  India? 

Robert.    It  makes  no  difference  where.    Perhaps 


HONOR.  69 

even  as  far  as  India.  Trast's  influence  reaches  a 
long  way.    We  are  in  a  position  to  choose. 

Heinecke.     {Defiantly)     Oh  yes,  choose  India! 

Frau  Heinecke.  I  don't  know  which  end  I'm 
on ! 

Robert.  It  will  be  hard  for  you !  I  realize  that. 
But  don't  worry;  it's  not  as  bad  as  it  seems.  You 
can  live  a  thousand  times  more  comfortably  in  the 
tropics  than  here.  You  can  have  as  many  servants 
as  you  like ! 

Heinecke.    Thousands! 

Robert.    And  your  own  house! 

Heinecke.    And  palms? 

Robert.    More  than  you  can  use. 

Heinecke.  And  you  can  pick  the  fruit  right  off 
the  trees. 

Robert.    It  picks  itself. 

Heinecke.    And  it  costs  nothing. 

Robert.    Almost  nothing. 

Heinecke.  And  the  parrots  fly  around— and  the 
apes?    Like  out  at  the  zoo? 

Robert.     So  you  will  come? 

Frau  Heinecke.    What  do  you  think,  Father? 

Heinecke.  Well — 's  far's  I'm  concerned,  we'll 
come. 

Robert.  Thank  you,  thank  you !  {Aside) 
Thank  God,  I  didn't  have  to  force  them !  And  now 
we  mustn't  lost  a  moment.   Where  is  paper  and  pen  ? 

(Heinecke  meditatively  scratches  his  head.) 

Frau  Heinecke.  Alma  has  some.  {She  goes 
into  bedroom) 

Heinecke.  Of  course,  .she's  always  writing  let- 
ters.    {He  shuts  the  stove  door) 

Robert.  {To  himself  with  a  sigh  of  relief)  Oh, 
now  I'm  doubly  curious  to  know  what  satisfaction 
he'll  offer — and  I  shall  have  to  refu.se!  Refu.se  a 
duel ! — They'll  call  me  a  coward  and  I'll  be  dis- 


yo  HONOR. 

honored !  Oh,  well,  I  don't  need  dieir  honor,  1 
have  to  earn  my  bread. 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Ejitering)  JLyerythmg  is 
laid  out  on  the  table — or  do  you  want  to  write  here  ? 

Robert.    No,  no,  I  shan't  be  disturbed  in  there. 

Frau  Heinecke.  You  look  tired.  You  must 
rest  a  little! 

Robert.  (Shakes  his  head)  li  Herr  Muhlingk, 
Junior,  sends  word,  or  comes  himself,  call  me.  (He 
goes  off) 

Frau  Heinecke.     (Sinking  to  the  chair)    India! 

Heinecke.  Drag  us  old  folks  half  round  the 
world ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Lord  Almighty ! 

Heinecke.    What  is  it? 

Frau  Heinecke.    Michalskis! 

Heinecke.  What?  Them!  (Buttons  his  coat) 
They'd  better  come ! 

(A  knock  is  heard.) 

Both.     (Quietly)     Come  in! 

(Enter  Michalski  and  Auguste.) 

Michalski.     Morning! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Shh ! 

Heinecke.  (Threatening  zvith  his  fist)  You — 
you  two — get  out  of  here ! 

Auguste.  (Sitting  down)  It's  right  cold  this 
morning ! 

Michalski.  (Sits  down  and  uncorks  a  bottle) 
Here's  a  bottle  of  liqueur  I've  brought  you.  Extra 
fine — Get  me  a  corkscrew. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Some  other  time!  We  have 
orders  to  throw  you  out  the  door ! 

Auguste.    Who  said  so? 

Frau  Heinecke.     Shh  !    Robert ! 

Auguste.  What?  You  let  him  order  you  around 
in  your  own  house. 


J 


HONOR.  71 

HniNECKE.  {In  an  undertone)  Shh !  he's  in  the 
bedroom  there. 

AuGUSTE,  (Pityingly)  Poor  father!  He's 
trembhng  with  fear ! 

MiCHALSKi.  The  idea  of  frightening  two  honest 
people  Hke  that !    The  scoundrel ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  He  ain't  a  scoundrel !  He's  a 
good  boy  and  he's  going  to  take  care  of  us ! 

Heinecke.  Even  if  he  does  want  us  to  go  to 
India ' 

Both.    What!    Where? 

Frau  Heinecke.    To  India. 

AuGUSTE.    What  ior; 

Frau  Heinecke.  Just  because  Alma  wanted  to 
go  to  a  masked  ball. 

MiciiALSKi.     Crazy ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  The  few  pieces  of  furniture 
that  made  the  home  so  friendly  we've  got  to  leave 
'em  all  behind. 

Auguste.  (Sentimentally)  And  poor  me,  are 
you  going  to  leave  me,  too? — Are  vou  going  to  sell 
'em? 

Frau  Heinecke.  The  furniture?  (Auguste 
nods)    We'll  have  to. 

Auguste.  The  mirror  and  chairs,  too?  (Frau 
Heinecke  nods — With  feeling)  If  I  was  in  your 
place,  instead  of  selling  them  for  a  song,  I'd  give 
them  to  your  daughter  you're  leaving  behind.  Then 
you'd  be  sure  they'd  be  in  good  hands ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Looking  at  her  suspiciously, 
then  confidentially,  to  her  husband)  Father!  she 
wants  the  arm-chairs  already. 

Auguste.  (Returning  to  the  subject)  Or  if  you 
will  sell  'em,  we  would  always  be  the  ones  to  pay  tlie 
highest,  just  to  keep  them  in  the  family. 

Heinecke.    But  we  ain't  gone  yet. 

Miciialski.    If  I  was  in  your  place 

Frau  Heinecke.  What'll  we  do?  Now,  we're 
absolutely   dependent   on   him  I      When   he  orders, 


72  HONOR. 

we've  got  to  obey,  or  else  we're  put  on  your  hands. 
AuGUSTE.     We  haven't  enough  to  eat  for  our- 
selves. 

{A  knock  is  heard.    Enter  Councillor  Muhlingk. 
ylll  start  up  frightened.) 

Muhlingk.  Good-morning,  my  people.  Is  your 
son  at  home? 

Heinecke.     (Humbly)    Yes,  sir. 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Opening  the  door)  Robert! 
(Tenderly)  Oh,  the  dear  boy,  he's  falleen  asleep  in 
his  chair !  He  didn't  sleep  a  wink  all  night — Bobby ! 
The  Herr  Councillor — He's  sound  asleep ! 

Muhlingk.  (Kindly)  Ah?  so  much  the  better! 
Don't  wake  him. 

Heinecke.     Shut  the  door ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    But  didn't  he  say 

Heinecke.  — H  the  young  Herr  Muhlingk  came, 
he  said — (He  shuts  the  door  quietly) 

Auguste.  (To  MiCHALSKi,  with  gesture  of 
counting  money)    Watch ! 

Muhlingk.  (Who  has  been  looking  around  the 
room)  You  seem  to  be  living  in  a  very  comfortable 
place,  my  good  people. 

Heinecke.  (Deferentially)  Would  the  Herr 
Councillor  be  so  kind  as  to  sit  down  ? 

Muhlingk.    Ha !  ha !  real  silk. 

Frau  Heinecke.    Yes,  it  is  silk. 

Muhlingk.     A  present,  perhaps? 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Hesitatingly)  Well,  yes,  you 
might  say 

Muhlingk.     (Innocently)     From  my  son? 

Heinecke.     Yes,  sir.      C      .„       ^,     . 

Frau  Heinecke.     Sh!  |      (Together) 

Muhlingk.  (Aside)  Rascal !  (Aloud)  By  the 
way,  your  good  son  has  not  acted  in  a  ver>'  dutiful 
manner  toward  mine.  Frankly,  I  expected  a  little 
more  gratitude.     You  can  tell  him  that  he  is  dis- 


HONOR.  73 

charged  and  that  I  shall  give  him  until  four  this 
afternoon  to  settle  his  accounts. 

Frau  Heinecke.  Oh,  that  will  make  him  feel 
bad. 

Heinecke.  He  loved  the  Herr  Councillor  like 
his  own  father ! 

MuHLiNGK.  Really!  I'm  glad  to  hear  it!  But 
that  is  not  what  brought  me  here,  good  people ;  you 
have  a  daughter. 

Auguste.     (Advancing)     At  your  service ! 

MuKLiNGK.     What  can  I  do  for  you? 

Auguste.     (Deferentially)     I  am  the  daughter. 

MuHLiNGK.  Ah,  very  good,  very  good.  But  I 
was  not  referring  to  you.    The  girl's  name  is  Alma. 

Frau  Heinecke.  That's  it.  And  a  mighty 
pretty  girl,  if  I  do  say  it  myself. 

MuHLiNGK.  Ah !  it  is  always  pleasing  to  see  chil- 
dren who  make  their  parents  happy.  But  there  is 
one  thing  that  I  don't  like — your  daughter  has 
taken  advantage  of  the  fact  that  I  have  allowed  you 
to  occupy  my  house,  and  has  established  illicit  rela- 
tions with  my  son.  Frankly,  I  expected  a  little 
more  gratitude. 

Frau  Heinecke.    Oh,  Herr  Councillor ! 

MuHLiNGK.  In  order  to  sever  all  connection 
whatsoever  between  your  house  and  mine,  I  offer 
you  a  cash  compensation — which  you,  my  dear 
Heinecke,  and  your  daughter  Alma,  may  divide, 
with  the  understanding  that  half  will  go  to  her  as  a 
dowry,  as  soon  as  she  finds  someone  who — (Laughs 
discreetly)  Well,  you  understand!  Until  then, 
the  entire  sum  will  be  at  your  disposal.  Do  you 
agree  ? 

Auguste.     (Behind  Heinecke)     Say  yes! 

Heinecke.    I— I 

MuHLiNGK.  I  have  offered  an  unusually  large 
amount  in  order  to  free  myself  of  a  promise  ex- 
tracted yesterday  by  your  son  from  my  son. — It 
amounts  to — a — fifty  thousand  marks. 


74  HONOR. 

Heinecke.  (With  an  exclamation)  God!  Herr 
Councillor,  are  you  in  earnest? 

Frau  Heinecke.  I'm  getting  dizzy!  (Sinks 
into  a  chair) 

MuHLiNGK.  (Aside)  I  made  it  too  high! — I 
put  the  question  again,  will  you  be  satisfied  with 
forty  thousand  marks? 

AuGUSTE.  (Nudging  her  father)  Say  yes,  quick 
— or  he'll  come  down  again. 

Heinecke.  I  can't  believe  it,  Herr  Councillor! 
Even  the  forty — There  isn't  that  much  money — It's 
nonsense — show  me  the  money. 

MuHLiNGK.     It  is  at  the  office,  waiting  for  you. 

Heinecke.  And  the  cashier  won't  say:  Put  the 
fellow  out — he's  drunk ! — Oh,  he  can  be  right  sharp 
with  the  poor  people  when  he  wants  to — that  cash- 
ier! (MuHLiNGK  draws  out  a  check  and  fills  it; 
hands  it  to  Heinecke;  they  all  study  the  writing) 
Forty  thousand  marks !  Always  the  generous  gen- 
tleman, Herr  Councillor.     Give  me  your  hand ! 

MuHLiNGK.  (Putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket) 
One  thing  more:  to-morrow  evening  a  m.oving  van 
will  be  in  front  of  your  door;  within  two  hours  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  leave  my  property, — and  I 
hope  that  will  be  the  last  I  hear  of  you. 

Heinecke.  Don't  say  that,  Herr  Councillor!  If 
the  visit  of  an  honest  old  man  isn't  disagreeable  to 
you,  I'll  take  the  liberty  of  calling  now  and  then. 
Yes,  I'm  an  honest  old  man ! 

MuHLiNGK.  Certainly  !  Good-day,  my  good  peo- 
ple!    (Aside)     Pah!     (He  goes  out) 

Heinecke.  Mother!  Forty  thousand!  (Mi- 
ch alski  tries  to  embrace  him)  Three  paces  to  the 
rear,  my  son!  (Takes  out  an  old  handkerchief  and 
carefidly  does  up  the  check  in  it,  then  puts  it  in 
breast  pocket)  Now  you  can  be  as  tender  as  you 
like. 

Frau  Heinecke.  I'm  half  sick  with  joy !  (The 
two  embrace  and  weep)     When  I  think!     I  don't 


HONOR.  75 

need  to  go  to  market  without  money  any  more.  And 
when  I'm  cold  in  the  afternoons,  I  can  make  a  fire 
without  having  a  bad  conscience — a  good  fire — and 
in  the  evening  cold  meat ! 

Heinecke.  And  in  the  evening  I  can  take  the 
horse-car  whenever  I  want ! 

MiCHALSKi.  Exactly  four  hundred  thousand 
times,  at  ten  pfennigs  per ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    And  you'll  buy  me  a  sofa. 

AuGUSTE.    Now  you  won't  be  going  to  India. 

Frau  Heinecke.     For  the  Lord's  sake. 

Heinecke.    Are  you  crazy? 

Auguste.  And  what  will  Herr  Robert  have  to 
say  to  that? 

Frau  FIeinecke.  (Happily)  Yes — Robert! 
(Goes  to  bedroom  door) 

Auguste.  (holding  her  back)  I  advise  you  to 
let  him  sleep.    He'll  hear  about  it  soon  enough. 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Startled)  What  d'you  mean 
by  that? 

Heinecke.  (Pidling  at  Frau  Heinecke's  dress 
and  pointing  to  kitchen  door)  He!  he!  Her!  In 
there ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Oh,  the  poor,  dear  child ! 

Heinecke.  (Mysteriously)  We'll  give  her  a 
little  surprise  !—Shh !  (All  tiptoe  to  the  kitchen 
door — Heinecke,  who  is  leading  the  way,  opens  the 
door  suddenly,  then  with  a  cry,  starts  back)  Wha — 
wh— Mother!    What's  that? 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Clasping  her  hands  above  her 
head)    Good  Lord! 

MiCHALSKi.  (Looking  over  their  shoulders) 
The  devil ! 

Heinecke.  (With  pretended  severity)  You 
come  here ! 

Alma.     (Outside)     Oh,  please — no! 

Heinecke.    Are  you  coming? 

(Enter  Alma  dressed  in   the  robe  of  the  Indian 


76  HONOR. 

Princess,  her  hands  covering  her  face  for 
shame.  All  laugh  and  exclaim  in  surprise  at 
the  costume.    Auguste  feels  the  material.) 

AuGUSTE.    The  Indian  dress. 

MiCHALSKi.     From  the  stark-naked  princess ! 

Alma.  I — just — wanted — to  try  it  on!  I'll  take 
it  right  off ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Ach  !  what  a  little  angel ! 

Alma.    Aren't  you  angry  with  me  any  more? 

Heinecke.  Angry!  (Then  recalling  his  se- 
verity) That  is — yes — very.  But  for  once  we'll 
allow  mercy  to  take  the  place  of  justice.  (Turning 
around)     That  was  pretty  good,  eh  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Strokes  Alma's  hair  and 
leads  her  toward  the  left)  Come,  sit  down.  No, 
her€  on  the  arm-chair ! 

Alma.    What  is  it — what's  happened? 

Heinecke.    Ha  I  ha! 

(All  take  their  places  about  him.) 

Alma.    And  I  can  go  to  the  masked  ball  ? 

Heinecke.  Ha — ha!  Yes,  you  can  go  to  the 
masked  ball. 

Auguste.     (Ironically)     The  poor  child ! 

Heinecke.  (Jumping  up)  I  must  go  this  min- 
ute to  the  bank  I 

MiCHALSKi.  (Opening  bottle  of  liqueur)  Wait! 
We'll  wet  up  our  luck  so  it'll  stick !  Alma,  some 
glasses. 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Getting  up)  Let  the  poor 
child  sit  still!  I'll  'tend  to  that  myself!  (She  goes 
to  the  washstand  and  brings  a  set  of  liqueur 
glasses.  To  Auguste)  What  did  you  mean  before 
about  Robert? 

Auguste.    You'll  see  quick  enough. 

Frau  Heinecke.  He  won't  grudge  us  old  folks 
a  little  good  luck,  will  he? 


HONOR.  -j-j 

MiCHALSKi.  (Sings)  "  So  leben  wir,  so  lehen 
wir! " 

{The  moving  of  a  chair  is  heard  in  bedroom.) 

MiCHALSKi.  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  drink  to 
Fraulein  Alma  Heinecke,  our  lucky-child,  and 
above  all,  the  House  that  has  always  shown  itself 
generous 

Heinecke.  The  house  of  Muhlingk!  Long  live 
the  House  of  Muhlingk !    Hurrah  ! 

(Robert  appears  at  the  bedroom  door.) 

All.     Hurrah !     Hurrah ! 

Frau  Heinecke.     (Startled)     There  he  is  ! 

(Embarrassed  silence.) 

MiCHALSKi.     Morning,  brother-in-law. 

Robert.  Will  you  kindly  explain,  Mother,  how 
these  two  happen  to  be  sitting  at  the  table  of  re- 
spectable people  ? 

MiCHALSKi.     Oh! 

Heinecke.    Don't  be  so  inhospitable ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Going  toward  him)  Bobby, 
you  mustn't  be  proud,  specially  to  your  own  flesh 
and  blood. 

Robert.  Hm — Alma,  what  is  that?  Who  gave 
you  permission ? 

Heinecke.  And  you  may  as  well  know  now  as 
any  time,  there's  no  use  having  any  hopes  about 
India.    I  prefer  to  spend  my  money  in  Germany. 

Robert.     (Confused)     What  has  happened? 

Frau  Heinecke.  You  tell  him.  Father,  you're 
the  one  that  got  the  check ! 

Robert.     What  check? 

Heinecke.  (Assuming  a  pose)  My  son !— one 
doesn't  often  seem  what  one  really  is — Such  things 


78  HONOR. 

are  deeper— For  that  reason  one  must  always  be  re- 
spectful— you  can  never  tell  what  is  hidden  under 
tattered  clothes.    Anyone  can  wear  a  fur-lined  coat. 

Robert.    Will  you  please  explain  what 

Heinecke.  Explain? — What  is  there  to  explain 
— Don't  look  at  me  like  that !  What  are  you  looking 
at  me  that  way  for,  Mother.    I  won't  stand  it ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Goon!    Goon! 

Heinecke.  Well,  as  I  said,  it's  simple  enough. 
The  Herr  Councillor  was  here. 

Robert.    He?    Why  didn't  you  call  me. 

Heinecke.  Ah — In  the  first  place  because  it  was 
not  the  young  Muhlingk — When  your  friend  comes, 
then  you  can  receive  him.  The  old  gentleman  is  my 
friend — ^We've  promised  to  call  on  each  other.  And 
second :  because  I  don't  have  to  ask  my  son  v/hat  is 
right  for  me  to  do — Now  you  know — See  ? 

Frau  Heinecke.    Oh,  Father ! 

Heinecke.  Don't  interrupt  me  when  I'm  giving 
my  son  a  little  admonition.  From  now  on  I'm  not 
going  to  be  fooled  with. 

MiCHALSKi.  {Behind  him)  That's  the  way  to 
talk. 

Robert.    Was  the  discussion  about  Alma? 

Heinecke.  In  the  first  place  the  discussion  was 
about  you.  You  have  been  discharged  from  his 
service,  because  of  insubordination.  Frankly,  I  ex- 
pected more  gratitude. 

Robert.    You  ? 

Heinecke.  (Sternly)  Yes,  me!  Your  honest 
old  father  I — It  isn't  pleasant  for  me  to  have  my  son 
wander  around  as  a  clerk  out  of  a  job.  Now  you've 
got  till  four  to  settle  your  accounts  or  it  will  go 
hard  with  you. 

Robert.  (About  to  break  out — controls  himself) 
Let's  talk  about  Alma!    Did  he  offer  satisfaction? 

Heinecke.     Certainly,  absolute. 

Robert.  (Hesitating,  as  if  saying  something 
foolish  )     Ah — marriage  ? 


HONOR.  79 

Heinecke.     What  marriage? 

Robert.    With  his  son 

Hp:inecke.     You  must  be  crazy. 

Robert.     {Anxiously)    Well,  what  else? 

Heinecke.  {Slyly  in  his  ear)  Forty  thousand 
marks!     {Aloud)     Fine,  eh? 

Robert.     {With  a  cry)     Money! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Frightened)  Lord!  I 
thought  so ! 

Heinecke.     Yes,  sir!     Here  it  is,  good  as  gold! 

Robert.     What!  you  took  it? 

Heinecke.     {Wonderingly)    Well? 

Robert.  He  offered  you  money  and  you  took  it ! 
{Against  his  will  he  springs  toward  his  father) 

MiCHALSKi.  {Stepping  between  them)  I  ad- 
vise you  to  leave  the  old  man  alone ! 

Robert.  {Reeling  back  without  notcing  him) 
Mother,  you  took  it ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Folding  her  hands)  We're 
poor  folks,  my  boy!  (Robert  sinks  down  zvith  a 
strange  laugh  on  the  work-stool.  Michalski  and 
Auguste  gather  about  Heinecke  and  Frau  Hein- 
ecke; Alma  sits  smiling,  with  folded  hands)  God 
have  mercy  on  us !  There's  something  wrong  with 
him!  {Puts  her  hand  on  his  shoulder)  My  Boy, 
take  a  little  advice  from  your  poor  old  mother. 
Don't  step  on  your  good  fortune's  toes,  for  pride 
dies  on  the  straw. 

Robert.  Straw  wouldn't  be  the  worst,  Mother — 
I  shall  die  on  the  grave's  edge,  or  in  the  gutter  like  a 
street  cur!  Only  do  give  the  money  back — {Des- 
perately) See,  I  am  talking  perfectly  calmly,  per- 
fectly sensibly,  Fll  show  you  as  plain  as  day  what 
you  must  do.  That  fellow  has  brought  us  into  dis- 
grace— But  we  are  innocent — -We  needn't  be 
ashamed  before  anyone.  A  man  can  steal  honor 
just  the  same  as  he  can  steal  a  purse.  No  one  can 
prevent  that ! — But  if  we  let  someone  buy  our  honor 
with  cold  money,  then  we  have  no  honor  at  all-  and 


8o  HONOR. 

it  serves  us  right — (Heinecke  turns  to  Michalski, 
touching  his  forehead)  Heaven  knows  I  under- 
stand it  all !  I'm  not  critcizing — Really  I'm  not. — 
You  are  poor  and  you've  always  been  poor.  Such  a 
miserable  existence !  Nothing  but  worry  for  daily 
bread  destroys  all  judgment  and  all  dignity.  And 
now  you  let  yourselves  be  blinded  by  a  little  money ! 
— but  believe  me,  it  will  never  give  you  pleasure. 
Nothing  will  be  left  but  disgust!  (Choking)  Ah, 
the  disgust !     It  chokes 

Frau  Heinecke.  That  kind  of  talk  is  enough  to 
turn  you  cold 

Heinecke.     So  that  is  my  son! 

Robert.  And  don't  imagine  that  you  will  lose 
by  taking  my  advice.  Look  at  me !  I  have  learned 
a  few  things,  haven't  I  ?  I'm  healthy,  I  can  be 
trusted,  can't  I — The  few  remaining  years  you  can 
trust  to  me,  can't  you? — Can't  you  see.  I  want 
nothing  better  than  to  work  for  you — I'll  make  you 
rich !  Rich !  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  me ! 
I'll  be  your  slave !  Your  pack-horse — Only  give 
back  that  money ! 

Heinecke.  That's  all  very  well !  But  a  bird  in 
the  hand — Let  me  tell  you ! 

MiCHALSKi.     You're  right  there.  Father ! 

Heinecke.  I  certainly  am  right ! — You  run 
along  and  chase  your  sparrows,  my  boy.  I'll  keep 
the  bird  I've  got. 

MiCHALSKi.     Bravo ! 

Robert.  And  you,  Mother? — (She  turns  away) 
You  too? — God,  what  have  I  left?— Alma,  what 
about  you  ?  I  offer  you  everj'thing.  Only  help  me ! 
(He  takes  her  hand.  She  struggles  a  little.  He 
draws  her  toward  the  center)  You've  given  your- 
self away.  Well,  perhaps  that's  your  right.  But 
you  won't  sell  yourself — you  can't  sell  your  love  in 
the  public  market.    Alma,  tell  them  that ! 

Alma.     (Angrily)    Let  me  go! 

Auguste.    He's  breaking  the  kid's  arm. 


HONOR.  8i 

Alma.  You've  got  nothing  to  say  to  me  any- 
more.    {She  breaks  away) 

Robert.     Little  sister! 

Alma.  And  I'm  going  to  the  masked  ball,  too ! 
Ask  mother  if  I  ain't. 

Robert.     Mother ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  Why  shouldn't  the  poor  child 
have  a  little  fun  once  in  a  while? 

Robert.     {Overcome)     So  we've  gone  that  far? 

MiCHALSKi.  {Sitting  in  chair,  mockingly)  Yes, 
we've  gone  that  far! 

Robert.  You — Procuror!  Get  out  of  that  chair ! 
(MiCHALSKi  remains  seated,  Robert  takes  hold  of 
the  back  of  the  chair)  Get  up,  I  say,  and  get  out 
of  here,  both  of  you ! 

MiCHALSKi.  {Threateningly)  Now  that's  a  lit- 
tle too  fresh ! 

Robert.  {Who  has  seized  the  chair)  Dare  to 
lay  a  hand  on  me ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Throwing  herself  betzveen 
them)     You'll  break  my  arm-chair. 

Robert.  I  suppose  that  comes  from  our  friends 
on  the  Avenue  whom  you  hold  in  such  high  esteem ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Of  course  it  does! 

Robert.     From  our  dear  Herr  Kurt,  I  suppose? 

Frau  Heinecke.    Well,  yes! 

Robert.  {With  a  wild  laugh)  There  it  is,  then ! 
i^He  throws  the  chair  to  the  floor,  breaking  it  and 
kicking  the  pieces  away  from  him) 

Frau  Heinecke.  {Weeping)  My  beautiful 
arm-chair !  {She  picks  up  the  pieces  carrying  them 
to  the  left — then  she  sinks  down  on  stool) 

Heinecke.  This  is  getting  uncomfortable  !  {He 
starts  to  go  out,  right) 

Robert.  {Standing  in  his  way)  Will  you  give 
that  blood-money  back?    Yes  or  no? 

Heinecke.  Give  it  back?  {Contemptuously) 
Huh! 

Robert.     Then  I'm  through  with  you!  and  you, 


82  HONOR. 

too,  Mother.  Is  a  man  brought  into  the  world  for 
that!  To  wear  dishonor  Hke  a  birthmark?  Very 
good!  If  I  had  to  be  born,  why  didn't  you  leave 
me  in  the  dirt  when  I  first  saw  the  day  ?  Where  I've 
got  to  wallow  for  the  rest  of  my  life  because  my 
worthy  family  desires  it! 

AuGUSTE.  Do  you  hear  that,  Mother,  and  he  was 
always  your  favorite. 

Robert.  No,  no,  Mother,  don't  listen  to  me ! 
(Kneeling  beside  her)  I  said  nothing!  If  I  said 
anything,  it  was  only  madness.  To-day  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  cut  loose  from  everything  that  is 
human — or  natural !  Mother,  have  pity  on  me ! 
You  can  save  me !    Come  with  me ! 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Sobbing)  How  do  I  know 
you  won't  break  the  mirror,  too !  in  your  blind  fits. 

Robert.  (Looks  wildly  at  mirror,  then  rises) 
We  speak  different  languages — We  can't  under- 
stand each  other. 

MiCHALSKi.  (Who  has  been  quietly  talking  to 
Heinecke.  He  slaps  Robert  on  the  shoidder) 
Now  you've  raised  enough  hell !    Get  out  of  here ! 

Robert.  (Ptishing  him  out  of  the  way)  Back! 
(As  his  parents  and  sisters  surround  him  with  an- 
gry cries.  Breaks  out  in  hollow  laughter)  Ah,  so 
that's  it !    You  throw  me  out  ? 

MiCHALSKi.     (Opens  door)     Get  out! 

(Count  Trast  appears  on  threshold.) 

Trast.  (Slapping  Michalski  on  shoulder) 
Thank  you  humbly  for  the  friendly  welcome ! 

Robert.  (Recognizing  Trast,  cries  out,  then  ex- 
tends his  arms  as  if  to  urge  him  away)  What  do 
you  want  here? — In  this  dive? — Do  you  know  who 
we  are? — We  sell  ourselves! — (He  laughs)  Look 
at  me!  No,  I  can't  bear  it!  (He  covers  his  face 
with  hands) 


HONOR.  83 

(At  the  sight  of  Trast,  Alma  shamefacedly  slinks 
away.  Michalski  and  Auguste  follow  her 
into  kitchen.) 

Trast.  Pull  yourself  together!  What  has  hap- 
pened ? 

Heinecke.  (Hat  in  hand)  He  acted  very  un- 
dutifully,  Count!  First  he  wanted  to  take  us  off 
to  India,  now  he  wants  to  take  our  money  away. 
I'm  just  going  to  the  bank — Whole  forty  thousand 
marks,  Count,  I  have  the  honor — (Bowing)  Count! 
(He  goes  out) 

Trast.  Yes,  I  understand.  (Lays  his  hand  on 
Robert's  shoidder)     Was  Herr  Muhlingk  here? 

Robert.  My  friend!  Thank  you — I  had  for- 
gotten ! 

Trast.    What  is  it? 

Robert.  He  wants  my  accounts.  He  shall  have 
them.  (Hurries  to  trunk  zvhich  he  opens  and  fever- 
ishly looks  for  something) 

Frau  Heinecke.  (Weeping)  You  can  thank 
the  Lord,  Count,  you're  not  married !  There  are 
right  ungrateful  sons  in  this  world ! 

Trast.  (To  himself)  You  talk  like  a  mother — 
(Realising  what  he  has  said)  Pah !  Trast,  that 
wasn't  nice ! 

Frau  Heinecke.    Ain't  I  right? 

Trast.  (Takes  her  hands  in  his)  A  mother  is 
always  right.  She  has  suffered  and  loved  too  much 
to  be  anything  else.     (Shakes  her  hand) 

Frau  Heinecke.  But,  Count!  You  shake 
hands  with  a  poor  old  woman ! 

Trast.  I  have  sinned  against  the  mothers,  and 
I  must  beg  forgiveness.  And  my  own  not  the  least. 
There  are  worse  sons,  than  yours,  my  dear  woman. 

(Robert  takes  out  a  leather  portfolio,  looks  through 
it,  and  lays  it  aside.  Then  he  takes  out  a  re- 
volver which  he  tests.) 


84  HONOR. 

Trast.  (Aside)  Ah,  a  revolver!  This  is  how 
he's  going  to  settle  accounts ! 

(Robert,  seeing  he  is  observed,  quickly  hides  the 
revolver  in  his  breast  pocket.  He  takes  his  hat 
and  portfolio  and  comes  forward.) 

Robert.     Now  I'm  ready ! 

Trast.    I'll  go  with  you. 

Robert.     You  ? 

Trast.     Have  I  the  right? 

Robert.     {Hesitatingly)     Good,  come! 

Frau  Heinecke.     {Tenderly,  in  tears)     Robert! 

Robert.  (Tries  to  conceal  his  excitement)  I — 
shall  come — again — to  say — good-bye !  Now  I  have 
something  important  to  do.  (He  goes  towards  the 
door) 

Frau  Heinecke.  (At  the  door,  wringing  her 
hands)  Herr  Kurt  and  him!  Oh,  there'll  be 
trouble ! 

Trast.     (Aside)     Shh !  ssh! — Well,  are  we  off? 

Robert.  (To  his  mother,  in  great  excitement, 
tenderly)  And  if  we — don't  see  each  other — (Con- 
trolling himself)     Good !    We'll  go ! 

(Both  go  out  as 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS.) 


^"■^     '•  HONOR.  85 


r' 


ACT  IV. 

Scene: — Same  as  in  Act  II. 

(Trast,  Wilhelm  and  Robert  discovered.  Robert 
carries  a  portfolio  under  his  arm.) 

Wilhelm.  (Aside  to  Trast)  I  have  strict  or- 
ders not  to  let  Herr  Heinecke  in. 

Trast.     Nor  me? 

Wilhelm.  Oh,  with  the  Count  it  is  a  different 
matter. 

Trast.  Thank  you  for  the  trust  you  put  in  me. 
Herr  Heinecke  is  accompanied  by  me.  I  shall  be 
responsible  for  his  prsence  here.  We  shall  wait  for 
the  Herr  Councillor. 

Wilhelm.     But 

Trast.  Which  do  you  prefer — specie  or  paper? 
(Looking  for  money  in  his  pocket-book)  Is  the 
whole  house  empty? 

Wilhelm.  The  Herr  Councillor  has  gone  to  the 
factory,  the  Gnadige  Frau  has  a  headache,  the 
Gnadiges  Fraulein  has  gone  to  the  city — Herr  Kurt 
likewise. 

Trast.    Together  ? 

Wilhelm.  Oh,  they  never  go  together — Herr 
Kurt  wanted  to  countermand  the  invitation — be- 
cause—  (Indicates  Robert) 

Trast.     (Gives  him  money)     Good!    That's  all ! 

Wilhelm.    Nothing  further,  sir? 

Trast.     Go. 

(Wilhelm   hows  and  goes  out) 

Come  here,  my  boy. 
Robert.  What  do  you  want? 
Trast.     What  do  I  want?     You  know  I  never 


86  HONOR. 

want  anything.  These  things  don't  affect  me.  But 
the  question  is :  What  do  yon  want  here — in  this 
house  ? 

Robert.    I  want  to  settle  my  account. 

Trast.  Of  course — we  know  that — But,  inas- 
much as  you  are  wilHng  to  forego  the  generous 
handshake  that  the  workman  usually  gets  at  this 
proud  m.oment,  I  should  think  you  would  send  the 
accounts  to  the  office — and — (With  gesture  of  final- 
ity) 

Robert.     That  would  be  simple  enough. 

Tra.st.  My  dear  man,  let  me  talk  to  you  as  a 
friend ! 

Robert.    Go  ahead,  talk  ! 

Trast.    You  are  pursuing  a  phantom ! 

Robert.    Really  ? 

Trast.    No  one  has  touched  your  honor. 

Robert.    Really ! 

Trast.    Because  nobody  in  the  world  could  do  it. 

Robert.    Really,  really ! 

Trast.  This  thing  that  you  call  honor — this  mix- 
ture of  shame,  and  "  tempo,"  and — honesty  and 
pride,  things  you  have  acquired  through  a  civilized 
existence  and  as  a  result  of  your  own  loyalty,  why 
this  can  no  more  be  taken  away  from  you  by  a  piece 
of  treachery  than  your  generosity  or  your  judg- 
ment !  Either  it  is  a  part  of  yourself  or  else  it 
doesn't  exist  at  all.  The  sort  of  honor  that  can  be 
destroyed  by  a  blow  from  a  fop's  glove  has  nothing 
to  do  with  you !  That  is  nothing  but  a  mirror  for 
the  dandies,  a  plaything  for  the  indolent  and  a  per- 
fume to  the  boulevardier. 

Robert.  You  talk  like  someone  trying  to  make  a 
virtue  out  of  necessity. 

Trast.  Perhaps — because  every  virtue  is  a  di- 
rect result  of  necessity. 

Robert.    And  my  family? 

Trast.  I  didn't  think  you  had  a  family  now ! 
(Robert  buries  his  face  in  his  hands)     I  under- 


HONOR.  87 

stand — it's  a  contraction  of  the  nerves  after  the 
limb  is  amputated. — Don't  deceive  yourself !  Even 
though  the  foot  still  pains  you,  the  leg  is  gone ! 

Robert.    You  never  had  a  sister! 

Trast.  — Tell  me,  must  I,  the  aristocrat,  learn 
v/hat  abasement  means  from  you,  a  plebeian?  My 
boy,  don't  forsv;ear  your  parents.  Don't  say  that 
they  are  worse  than  you  or  I.— They  are  different, 
that's  all.  Their  sensations  are  sensations  that  are 
strange  to  you,  the  point  of  view  they  hold  is  simply 
beyond  your  comprehension.  Therefore  to  critici.'^e 
them  is  not  only  narrow-minded,  but  presumptu- 
ous— And  you  may  as  well  know  soon  as  late:  in 
your  struggle  with  your  people  you  have  been 
wrong  from  beginning  to  end ! 

Robert.    Trast,  you  say  that ! 

Tra.st.  I  take  the  liberty — You  come  back  from 
a  foreign  country  where  you  have  been  associating 
with  triple-plated  gentlemen,  and  then  you  expect 
your  people,  in  order  to  please  you,  to  change  the 
very  skins  they  live  in ;  although  they've  fitted  per- 
fectly all  these  years!  That  is  immodest,  my  boy! 
And  your  sister  has  really  received  back  her  honor 
from  the  family  Muhlingk  ;  the  honor  which  she  can 
make  use  of.  For  everything  on  this  earth  has  its 
price  and  value.  The  honor  of  the  Avenue  may  be 
paid  for  with  blood — may  be,  I  said.  The  honor  of 
the  Alley  is  restituted  with  a  little  capital,  in  inte- 
grum. (As  Robert  steps  towards  him  angrily) 
Don't  eat  me  up !  I  haven't  finished !  Yes — what 
other  significance  has  a  girl's  honor — and  that's 
what  we're  concerned  with  now — than  to  bring  a 
sort  of  dowry  of  pure-heartedness  and  honesty  to 
her  husband.  She  is  there  for  one  purpose  and  that 
is  marriage!  Just  be  so  good  as  to  make  a  few  in- 
quiries in  the  society  from  which  you  come  and  see 
if  your  sister,  with  the  money  that  has  dropped  into 
her  lap,  can't  make  a  much  better  match  than  she 
otherwise  could ! 


88  HONOR. 

Robert.     Trast,  you  are  cruel,  you  are  crude! 

Trast.  Crude  like  Nature,  cruel  like  Truth ! 
Only  the  indolent  and  the  cowardly  surround  them- 
selves a  tout  prix  with  idyllics — But  you  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  them  now.  Come,  give  me  your 
hand,  shake  the  dust  of  home  off  your  feet  and 
don't  look  back ! 

Robert.    First  I  must  have  personal  satisfaction. 

Trast.  So  you  insist  on  fighting  a  duel  with 
him? 

Robert.    Yes. 

Trast.    Don't  be  so  old-fashioned. 

Robert.  Old-fashioned — I  may  be.  Perhaps  be- 
cause I  came  into  the  world  as  a  plebeian  and  be- 
cause my  conception  of  honor  was  acquired.  I 
haven't  the  strength  to  rise  to  the  heights  of  your 
standpoint.  Let  me  go  down  in  my  own  narrow- 
ness if  I  must. 

Trast.     But  suppose  he  won't  give  satisfaction? 

Robert.    I  shall  find  some  way  to  force  him. 

Trast.  Aha!  (/^.yfof^)  the  revolver! — One  thing 
more,  my  boy;  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
let  Herr  Kurt  put  a  bullet  through  you,  you  must 
take  away  every  pretext  for  his  refusing. 

Robert.    Heavens,  yes  !  you  are  right ! 

Trast.  {Drawing  out  his  pocket-book)  Does 
that  embarrass  you? 

Robert.  No,  you  have  done  too  much  for  me, 
for  me  to  ask 

Trast.     (Filling  out  a  check)     There! 

Robert.    And  if  I  can  never  pay  that  back? 

Trast.  Then  I'll  write  it  in  the  largest  ledger, 
where  the  accounts  of  friendships  are  kept.  (Strok- 
ing his  head)  It  won't  be  as  bad  as  that !  Hm — my 
boy — one  thing  you've  forgotten. 

Robert.    What  ? 

Trast.     Leonore. 

Robert.     (Shuddering)     Don't  speak  of  her! 

Trast.    You  love  her. 


r   ■  HONOR.  89 

Robert.    Oh  ! — I  shan't  answer ! 

Trast.  Would  you  Uke  to  have  her  think  of  you 
as  the  murderer  of  her  brother. 

Robert.  Better  than  if  she  had  to  think  of  me 
as  a  man  without  honor. 

Trast.  {Straightening  up)  Am  I  not  a  so-called 
"  man  without  honor  ?  "  And  haven't  you  found  me 
a  good  fellow  ?  And  don't  I  carry  my  head  as  high 
as  anyone  in  the  world  ?     Shame  on  you ! 

Robert.     {After  a  pause)     Trast — forgive  me! 

Trast.  Forgive — iNonsense,  I  like  you! — That's 
enough ! 

Kcjbert.    Trast — I — won't  fight — the  duel ! 

Trast.    Your  word? 

Robert.    My  word! 

Trast.    Come,  then, 

Robert.     Where  ? 

Trast.    How  do  I  know  ?    Into  the  world. 

Robert.    Forgive  me — shall  I  ? 

{Enter  Wilhelm.) 

WiLHELM,  The  Herr  Councillor  has  just  come 
into  his  orlice. 

Trast.     {Aside)    Kurt  not  home! — That's  good. 

Robert.    I'll  go  in.     {He  takes  his  portfolio) 

Trast.    Good !    Wait  for  me ! 

Robert.    What  do  you  want  here  ? 

Trast.  Never  mind  about  that.  Come  here. 
{Aside  to  Robert)  Before  you  go,  give  me  your 
revolver. 

Robert.     {Startled)     You  know? 

Trast.    Anyone  could  see  it  inside  your  coat. 

Robert.  Please — let  me  keep  it — or  can't  you 
trust  me? 

Trast.  I'm  afraid  that  story  of  Pepe  will  go  to 
your  head. 

Robert.  Hasn't  a  word  of  honor  between  two 
dishonored  men  any  value? 


90  HONOR. 

Trast.  Good!  Keep  it.  (Robert  goes  out  fol- 
lotved  by  Wiliielm.  Trast  is  about  to  follow  him, 
but  stops) — Perhaps  it  was  imprudent  after  all? — 
But  if  the  youngster  comes  home,  I'll  keep  them 
apart.  Now  there  is  something  else  to  attend  to.  If 
this  girl  here  is  what  I  think  she  is — {Enter 
Leonore  l.  wearing  a  winter  costume)  Ah,  this  is 
very  fortunate. 

Leonore.  {Giving  him  her  hand.  Excitedly) 
Count,  do  you  know  where  I've  been?  To  your 
apartment !  {Takes  her  coat  and  hat  off)  Are  you 
shocked  at  my  boldness?  But  you  v,-ere  the  only 
one  to  whom  I  could  go  to  find  out  what  has  hap- 
pened. I  was  afraid  my  brother  was  on  the  way  to 
ruin  that  young  girl.  I  suspected  it.  Has  your 
triend  found  out? 

Trast.    If  that  were  all ! 

Leonore.    What  else  could  there  be 


Trast.     I  admit,  I  really  can't  find  words  to 

Leonore.    Please  tell  me ! 

Trast.  Very  well !  Your  parents  have  consid- 
ered it  necessary  to  make  those  poor  people  forget 
their  trouble — so  they  appealed  to  them  on  their 
weakest  side — namely,  by  their  poverty. 

Leonore.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that? — that — they 
— bought  my  brother's — {As  Trast  nods)  Oh, 
God! 

Trast.  It  goes  without  saying  that  personally  I 
offer  no  criticism  of  them  whatever.  That  is  the 
customary  means  of  ending  such  relationships.  But 
I  am  afraid  for  my  friend. 

Leonore.  {Her  face  in  her  hands)  How  can  I 
ever  make  it  up  to  him? 

Trast.    Do  you  feel  that  it  is  your  duty? 

Leonore.  My  duty?  My  whole  being  revolts 
against  this  disgusting  practice  of  my  home  ! — Pay  ! 
— always  pay !  pay  for  honor,  pay  for  love,  pay  for 
justice !     We  can  afford  it,  we  have  the  money. 


HONOR.  91 

(Throws  herself  into  a  chair.  Then  springing  up) 
Forgive  me !  I  don't  know  what  I'm  doing !  I 
spoke  of  my  family  as  though  they  were  strangers. 

Trast.  Perhaps  they  are  more  strangers  to  you 
than  you  think ! 

Leonore.  (Confused)  If  you  were  only  right! 
(As  he  appears  to  listen  to  something  outside) 
What  is  it  ? 

Trast.    Isn't  that  your  brother's  voice? 

Leonore.  (At  the  door)  Yes,  with  some  of  his 
friends. 

Trast.  (Aside)  I  shouldn't  have  let  him  keep 
the  revolver.  (Taking  his  hat)  Is  he  going  to  the 
office? 

Leonore.     No,  I  think  they  are  coming  here. 

Trast.  (Putting  his  hat  down  again)  Good,  I 
will  v/ait  for  him — One  thing,  Fraulein — My  friend 
leaves  this  house  to-day;  he  leaves  the  city  to-mor- 
row and  perhaps  Europe  in  a  short  time. 

Leonore.     (To  herself)     Oh,  God ! 

Trast.  But  to-day  I  should  like  to  prevent  a 
meeting  betvv'een  him  and  your  brother.  If  that 
meeting  does  occur,  without  my  being  able  to  pre- 
vent it,  I  should  like  you  to  remain  in  the  vicinity. 

Leonore.  (She  nods;  voices  are  heard  at  the 
door.  She  hurries  to  the  left,  then  turns)  What 
shall  I  do.  Count? 

Trast.    Be  true  to  him ! 

Leonore.    I  will !    (She  goes) 

Trast.     Now — the  brother! 

(Enter  Kurt,  Lothar  and  Hugo.) 

Kurt.     (Surprised)     Count! 

Lothar.  (Aside)  Good  thing  we  came  with 
you! 

Trast.  I  should  like  a  few  words  with  you,  Herr 
IVIuhlingk. 


92  HONOR. 

Kurt.  Sorry,  but  I  am  very  pressed  for  time ;  my 
father  is  waiting  for  me ! 

Trast.  (Aside)  Oho! — (7o  Kurt)  It's  a  per- 
sonal favor. 

Kurt.  I  have  no  secrets  from  my  friends,  Count. 
(They  sit  down) 

Trast.  Someone,  a  great  friend  of  mine,  has 
suffered  deeply  because  of  his  honor.  On  my  ad- 
vice and  as  a  favor  to  me  he  has  foregone  sending 
you  a  challenge. 

Kurt.  You  are  mistaken.  Count ;  Herr  Heinecke 
received  satisfaction. 

LoTHAR.     We  could  allow  no  other  satisfaction. 

Trast.  (Looks  at  him  from  head  to  foot)  We 
won't  go  into  that  any  further,  Herr  Muhlingk. 
My  friend  at  this  moment  is  with  your  father,  set- 
tling his  accounts  in  person. 

Kurt.    Well,  that  is  his  privilege. 

Trast.  He  is  to  have  an  interview  with  him  at 
the  same  time. 

Kurt.    That  is  also  his  privilege.  Count. 

Trast.  In  an  hour  my  friend  will  have  left  this 
establishment.  In  consideration  of  the  strain  of  ex- 
citement under  v.hich  he  is  probably  suffering  at 
present,  it  would  be  to  the  advantage  of  both  sides 
if  a  meeting  between  you  could  be  avoided. 

LoTHAR.    That 

Trast.  (Quietly)  Herr  Lieutenant,  I  have 
not  as  yet  taken  the  liberty  of  addressing  you  !  Herr 
Muhlingk,  let  us  consider  this  seriously.  You  are 
speaking  with  some  one  who  has  your  material  wel- 
fare at  heart — not  out  of  sympathy,  I  am  free  to 
admit — Therefore,  I  may  speak  to  you  almost  as  a 
friend,  don't  let  these  gentlemen  intimidate  you. 

Hugo.    No,  don't  let  us  intimidate  you ! 

Trast.  And  consider  this !  I  don't  dare  think  of 
the  wrong  I  have  done  that  man — you  will — you'll 
do  me  this  favor? 

Lothar.     (Behind  Kurt)    Now  show  him! 


HONOR.  93 

Kurt.  I  have  nothing  to  say,  Count,  because  I 
find  it  impossible  to  choose  words  to  express  my  as- 
tonishment at  your  extraordinary  request. 

(All  rise.) 

LoTHAR.     (To  Kurt,  aside)     Fine!  fine! 

Kurt.  And  furthermore,  I  should  like  to  know 
by  what  right  you  dare  make  such  a  request  to  me 
in  my  own  house? 

Trast.     You  refuse? 

Kurt.    Do  you  still  doubt  it.  Count  ? 

Lothar.  (Aside  to  him)  More  cutting,  more 
cutting. 

Trast.  (Aside)  Force — Yes,  I  doubted  it,  for 
I  still  cherished  the  slight  hope  that  I  was  dealing 
with  a  man  of  honor — I  beg  your  pardon — I  made 
a  mistake. 

Kurt.     Sir — that  is 

Trast.    An  insult — yes. 

Kurt.    Which  will  be  properly  dealt  with. 

Trast.    I  ask  for  nothing  better. 

Kurt.     You  will  hear  from  me  to-morrow. 

Trast.  To-morrow — So  you  sleep  on  a  thing  like 
that?  I  am  accustomed  to  settling  such  matters 
at  once. 

Kurt.     (Chokingly)     Immediately. 

Trast.  (Aside)  Thank  God!  (Aloud)  Then 
we'll  go ! 

Lothar.  (Stepping  between)  Always  correct, 
Kurt.  You,  as  principal,  have  nothing  further  to 
do  with  the  gentleman.  (Sharply)  In  the  first 
place,  Count,  the  Code  of  Honor  permits  the  chal- 
lenged as  well  as  the  challenger  twenty- four  hours 
in  which  to  arrange  his  affairs.  We,  my  principal 
and  I — shall  make  use  of  this  rule,  unless — and  now 
I  come  to  the  second  point — we  shall  be  prevented 
from  enjoying  that  privilege— for  you,  Sir,  have  not 
insulted  us 


94  HONOR. 

Trast.    Ah ! 

LoTHAR.  You  belong  to  those  who  cannot  insult 
us. 

Trast.     (Merrily)     Ah,  yes! 

LoTHAR.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  recall,  that 
the  Count  von  Trast-Saarberg,  as  we  can  still  see  in 
the  register,— on  the  twenty-fifth  of  June,  1864, 
was  released,  under  a  cloud,  from  his  regiment,  be- 
cause of  unpaid  gambling  debts.  That  is  all, 
(Bows  negligently) 

Trast.  (Breaking  out  into  laughter)  Gentle- 
men, I  thank  you  heartily  for  the  little  lesson — I 
certainly  deserved  it — for  the  worst  crime  under 
heaven  is  to  be  illogical !  And  one  thing  I  see  above 
everything  else.  No  matter  how  much  a  man  is  ele- 
vated above  the  modern  Honor  he  must  still  remain 
her  slave,  even  if  it  is  only  when  he  wants  to  help  a 
poor  devil  of  a  friend  out  of  a  hole — Gentlemen,  I 
have  the  honor — Pardon !  I  haven't  the  honor ! 
You  have  denied  me  that ;  so  nothing  remains  but 
the  pleasure— the  pleasure  of  saying  "  Good-day," 
but  that  is  better  still!     (He  goes  out  laughing) 

Hugo.  Here  wc  are  with  our  honor  and  still 
we've  made  ourselves  ridiculous. 

Lothar.     We  acted  quite  correctly. 

Hugo.    But,  Lothar,  the  coffee,  the  coffee. 

LoTHAR.  One  must  be  willing  to  sacrifice  for  the 
sake  of  his  Honor,  my  friend.  I  am  glad  I  could  do 
you  this  service,  Kurt— What  would  you  have  done 
without  me?     Well,  until  to-night. 

Kurt.    Are  you  going  back  to  town  already? 

Lothar.    Yes. 

Kurt.    I'll  go  with  you. 

Lothar.  Oh,  that  will  look  as  though  you 
wanted  to  get  away  from  the  noble  brother. 

Kurt.    What  do  you  mean  ? 

Lothar.  Do  you  want  the  Count  to  laugh  in  his 
sleeve?    Now  it  has  become  almost  a  duty  to  stay. 

Kurt.     Hardly  that. 


HONOR.  95 

LoTHAR.  Your  duty,  unless  you  want  it  thought 
you  are  a  coward. 

(Enter  Muhlingk  in  a  fur  coat  and  hat,  Wilhelm 
follows  him.) 

Muhlingk.  {Throwing  his  coat  to  Wilhelm) 
What  is  that  fellow  thinking  of  to  try  and  get  into 
my  office? — Good-day,  gentlemen — let  him  send  the 
books  to  me,  then  tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil — (Wil- 
helm leaves)  Kurt,  why  are  you  sneaking  away? 
We've  got  a  little  bone  to  pick,  eh? 

Kurt.  (Aside  to  his  friends)  Now  I'm  in  for 
it — Get  out  now  !  before  the  storm ! 

Hugo.  Herr  Councillor,  .we  haven't  much 
time 

Muhlingk.  Good-day,  gentlemen,  I  regret  ex- 
ceedingly.   Good-day. 

LoTHAR.  (Aside)  You  tell  us  how  the  thing 
comes  out. 

(LoTHAR  and  Hugo  go  out.) 

Muhlingk.  This  time  I've  cleaned  the  matter 
up  satisfactorily,  and  the  sacrifice,  God  knows,  will 
be  put  down  to  your  debit.  Now  for  the  moral 
side  of  the  question. 

(Enter  Frau  Muhlingk.) 

Kurt.  (Aside)  Here  comes  the  old  lady,  this 
will  be  great. 

Frau  Muhlingk.    Oh,  Kurt !    Kurt ! 

Kurt.    Yes,  Mother? 

Frau  Muhlingk.  (Sitting)  You  have  brought 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  your  parents.  You  forced 
your  father  to  bargain  with  that  rabble.  (Leonore 
enters  left)  Oh,  how  disgusting!  what  humiliation 
for  us!    (To  Leonore)    What  do  you  want? 

Leonore.    I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 


96  HONOR. 

MuHLiNGK.  We  haven't  time  now,  go  to  your 
room. 

Leonore.  No,  Father.  I  can't  play  the  part  of 
the  silent  daughter  any  longer.  If  I  am  a  member 
of  the  family  I  want  to  take  part  in  this  conversa- 
tion. 

MuHLiNGK.  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this 
ceremony  ? 

Leonore.  Something  very  unfortunate  has  taken 
place  in  our  family. 

MuHLiNGK.    I  don't  know  anything ! 

Leonore.  You  needn't  try  to  hide  it  from  me. 
According  to  the  rules  of  modern  hypocrisy  which 
are  applied  to  the  so-called  young  ladies,  I  ought  to 
go  about  with  downcast  eyes  and  play  the  part  of 
innocent  ignorance.  Under  the  circumstances  that 
doesn't  work.    I  have  heard  about  the  whole  affair. 

Frau  Muiilingk.  And  you  aren't  ashamed  of 
yourself? 

Leonore.     (Bitterly)     I  am  ashamed  of  myself. 

MuHLiNGK.  Do  you  know  whom  you  are  speak- 
ing to  ?    Are  you  mad  ? 

Leonore.  If  my  tone  was  impertinent,  please 
forgive  me.  I  want  to  soften  you,  not  to  quarrel 
with  you.  Perhaps  I  have  been  a  bad  daughter — 
Perhaps  I  really  haven't  the  right  to  have  my  own 
thoughts  as  long  as  I  do  not  eat  my  own  bread — If 
that  is  true,  try  to  pardon  me — I  will  make  up  for 
it  a  thousand  times.  But  understand — give  him 
back  his  honor 

MuHLiNGK.  I  won't  ask  you  again  what  the  fel- 
low is  to  you? — what  do  you  mean  by  "  giving  him 
back  his  honor  ?  " 

Leonore.  Heavens,  you  must  first  at  least  have 
the  good  will  to  make  up  for  what  has  happened. 
Then  we  can  find  the  means  later. 

MuHLiNGK.  You  think  so?  Sit  down,  my  child 
— I  shall  let  my  customary  mildness  still  govern  me 
and  try  to  bring  you  to  reason,  although  perhaps  a 


HONOR.  97 

stricter  method  would  be  more  in  place — Look  at 
this  old  gray  head.  A  great  deal  of  honor  has  been 
piled  up  there  and  still  in  my  whole  life  I  have  never 
meddled  with  this  so-called  sense  of  honor — ah, 
what  a  person  has  to  endure  without  even  saying 
"  Hum  "  when  he  expects  to  succeed  in  life.  Here 
is  a  young  man  from  whom  you  say,  I  have  taken 
his  honor.  Taking  for  granted  that  you  are  right — 
where  does  a  young  fellow  like  that  get  his  honor? 
From  his  family?  Or  from  my  business?  My 
clerks  are  no  knights.  You  say  he  had  honor,  and 
I'm  supposed  to  give  it  back  to  him.  How?  By 
taking  his  sister  as  a  daughter-in-law? 

Frau  Muhlingk.  Really,  Theodore,  you  mustn't 
say  these  things  even  as  a  joke. 

Muhlingk.  H  I  did  that,  I  should  disgrace  my- 
self and  my  family.  On  the  other  hand,  this  young 
man  has  the  chance  of  getting  out  of  the  trouble, 
n  he  refuses,  and  it  comes  back  to  me,  who  shall  be 
made  unhappy,  we  or  he?  My  answer  is:  he  shall, 
I  have  no  desire  to  be,  myself — That's  the  way  I've 
always  done,  and  everyone  knows  me  as  a  man  of 
honor. 

Leonore.  (Rising)  Father,  is  that  your  last 
word? 

Muhlingk.  My  last!  Now,  come,  give  me  a 
kiss  and  beg  your  mother's  pardon. 

Leonore.  (Shrinks  back  with  a  shudder)  Let 
me  go !    I  can't  deceive  you  ! 

Muhlingk.    What  do  you  mean  ? 

Leonore.  Father,  I  feel  I  am  in  the  wrong,  that 
I  am  asking  the  impossible  from  you.  I  shall  have 
to  know  the  world  differently  from — (Stops  sud- 
denly and  listens.     There  are  voices  in  the  hall) 

Muhlingk.    And ? 

Leonore.  (Aside)  It's  he! — Oh,  I  can't  stand 
it  any  longer! 

(Enter  Wilhelm.) 


98  HONOR. 

WiLHELM.  The  young  Herr  Heinecke  from  the 
Alley  is  there  again. 

(Kurt  starts.) 

MuHLiNGK.  Did  you  tell  him  what  I  told  you 
to  say? 

WiLHELM.  Yes,  Herr  Councillor,  but  he  fol- 
lowed me  here  from  the  office. 

MuHLiNGK.  What  impertinence! — li.  he  doesn't 
leave  this ! 

Kurt.  Pardon  me,  Father.  Perhaps  he  only 
wants  to  thank  you !    I  believe  he  has  reasons. 

MuHLiNGK.     Such  people  never  give  you  thanks. 

Kurt.    Has  he  money  to  give  you? 

MuHLiNGK.     Certainly. 

Kurt.  There  must  be  something  back  of  it — 
get  it  over  and  we'll  be  done  with  him. 

MuHLiNGK.  As  far  as  I'm  concerned — let  hira 
come. 

(WiLHELM  goes  out.) 

Frau  Muhlingk.    We'll  go,  Leonore. 

Leonore.     (Aside)     Kurt! 

Kurt.    Well? 

Leonore.    Be  on  your  guard ! 

Kurt.    Bah !    ( Trying  to  hide  his  fear) 

(Frau  Muhlingk  and  Leonore  go  out.  Enter 
Robert,  apparently  calm,  respectful  in  manner 
— he  carries  a  portfolio.) 

Muhlingk.  You  were  a  little  insistant,  young 
man — Well,  I  never  criticize  a  man  in  the  discharge 
of  duty;  least  of  all  when  he  is  about  to  leave  his 
employer,  at  the  eleventh  hour.    Take  a  seat ! 

Robert.    H  you  don't  mind,  I'll  remain  standing. 

Muhlingk.    Just  as  you  like — I  had  word  from 


HONOR.  99 

my  nephew  yesterday.  He  is  getting  on  well — hav- 
ing a  good  time — a  little  too  much  according  to 
Count  Trast — Well,  a  little  pleasure  is  always  in  the 
blood  of  gentlemen  of  good  family — You  have 
brought  the  annual  report  with  you,  I  hope  ? 

Robert.     Yes. 

MUHLINGK.     And 

Robert.  {To  Muhlingk)  There,  sir.  {Takes 
a  sheet  and  hands  it  to  the  Councillor) 

Kurt.  {Phying  the  part  of  indifference)  May 
I  see,  Father? 

Muhlingk.  Yes,  yes — or  perhaps  you  have  a 
copy  ? 

Robert.    Yes,  I  have. 

Muhlingk.  Please  give  it  to  my  son.  (Robert 
hands  it  to  Kurt.  The  two  stand,  measuring  each 
other  with  their  eyes)  As  far  as  I  can  see  at  the 
first  glance  that  is  exceedingly  good.  The  net  gain 
is 

Robert.    116,227  Gulden. 

Muhlingk.  The  dutch  gulden  is  one  mark  sev- 
enty— Kurt  figure  it  with  me. 

Robert.     197,585  Marks. 

Muhlingk.  8—1 — 3 — 5 — 8.  Right — 197,285 
Marks  and  90  Pfennigs.  Kurt,  are  you  figuring 
it  up? 

Kurt.    And  ninety  pfennig.    Yes,  Father. 

Muhlingk.  Ha — And  in  the  coffee  "  a  small 
profit  ?  "    What  does  that  mean  ? 

Robert.  {Handing  him  a  sheet)  Here  is  the 
special  account.  I  was  in  a  position  to  foresee  the 
crisis  caused  by  the  competition  in  Brazil  and  I  had 
five-sixths  of  the  area  planted  with  tea. 

Muhlingk.    You? 

Robert.    Yes,  Herr  Councillor,  I 

Kurt.    Strange ! 

Muhlingk.    And  how  is  the  "  Quinquina?  " 

Robert.  Here  is  the  report.  {Hands  him  the 
paper) 


loo  HONOR. 

MuHLiNGK.  Not  much,  either !  Where  does  the 
profit  come  in  that  brings  up  the  average  ? 

Robert.  The  chief  source  of  gain  was  Sumatra 
tobacco  and  the  tea — especially  the  tea.  (Handing 
another  sheet) 

MuHLiNGK.  You  made  this  trial  on  the  strength 
of  your  own  judgment,  too? 

Robert.  Not  entirely,  I  followed  a  suggestion 
that  my  friend,  Count  Trast,  gave  me. 

MuHLiNGK.    And  my  nephew  approved  of  it? 

Robert.     Afterwards — yes. 

MuHLiNGK.     You  are  right,  Kurt — it  is  strange! 

Robert.  Have  the  gentlemen  any  further  ques- 
tions ? 

MuHLiNGK.  Judging  from  the  manner  in  which 
you  behave  here,  one  might  think  that  you  had  been 
running  my  business  in  Java  yourself.  What  do 
you  im.ply  by  that? 

Robert.  That  I  had  the  authority,  Herr  Coun- 
cillor. 

MuHLiNGK.  And  where  was  my  nephew,  mean- 
while ? 

Robert.  That  is  a  question  too  general  to  an- 
swer, Herr  Councillor. 

MuHLiNGK.  Didn't  he  come  to  the  office  every 
day? 

Robert.    No,  Herr  Councillor. 

MuHLiNGK.  (With  increasing  anger)  When  did 
he  come? 

Robert.  When  the  post  from  Hamburg  came, 
and  when  he  had  need  of  money. 

MuHLiNGK.  Do  you  imply  by  that  that  my 
nephew  neglected  his  duty? 

Robert.  I  don't  wish  to  imply  anything  that  I 
have  not  said. 

MuHLiNGK.    Then  kindly  explain  to  me. 

Robert.  I  don't  feel  myself  called  upon  to  dis- 
cuss the  private  life  of  my  former  manager. 


HONOR.  loi 

Kurt.  But  to  paint  him  as  black  as  you  can — 
that  suits  you  better! 

Robert.  (Starts  forward  toward  him,  but  con- 
trols himself)  Have  the  gentlemen  any  further 
questions  ? 

MuHLiNGK.  What  monies  have  you  brought 
with  you? 

Robert.  I  have  notes  from  different  banks 
amounting  to  about  95,000  gulden — here  they  are. 

MuHLiNGK.  Kurt,  check  that  up.  (Kurt  rises 
and  takes  each  paper  from  Robert  in  turn  and  looks 
it  through) 

Robert.    Have  you  finished,  Herr  Councillor? 

MuHLiNGK.    Just  a  minute.    {Pause) 

Kurt.    Correct. 

MuHLiNGK.  Well,  my  dear  Herr — Heinecke,  I 
wish  you  success  in  your  future  enterprises.  Be  an 
industrious  fellow  and  don't  forget  what  you  owe  to 
this  house. 

Robert.  No,  Herr  Councillor,  I  shan't  forget! 
Here  is  the  forty  thousand  marks  that  you  had  the 
kindness  to  give  to  my  father. 

MuHLiNGK.  This  forty  thousand  was  a  gift,  not 
a  loan. 

Robert.  Nevertheless,  I  consider  myself  respon- 
sible for  its  return. 

MuHLiNGK.  Has  your  father  given  his  authority 
for  the  return  of  the  money? 

Robert.     No,  he  has  not. 

MuHLiNGK.    Then  the  money  is  your  own? 

Robert.     Yes. 

MuHLiNGK.    Hmm! 

Kurt.  Don't  you  think  it  interesting,  Father, 
that  Herr  Heinecke  has  saved  so  much  money  ? 

Robert.  {Thinks  a  moment,  then  realizes  the 
meaning  of  Kurt's  insinuation,  cries  out,  and  steps 
forward  drawing  his  revolver.  He  seizes  Kurt  by 
the  throat)    Cur !  take  that  back ! — back ! 

MuLiNGK.    Help !    help ! 


102  HONOR.  ^  ~ '  "^ 

(Leonore  enters.) 

Leonore.     Have  pity!     Robert! 

Robert.  {Lets  the  revolver  fall  and  drops  hack, 
his  face  in  his  hands.  Kurt  struggling  for  breath 
sinks  to  sofa)    Oh  ! 

(Enter  Frau  Muhlingk.  ) 

Frau  Muhlingk.  What  is  it?  Kurt?  (Rush- 
ing to  him)  Help!  Murder!  Murder!  Ring, 
Theodore ! 

Muhlingk.  Quiet !  There  is  no  further  dan- 
ger !    What  more  do  you  want  ?    Get  out ! 

Robert.  Leave  as  a  thief,  eh?  (At  a  movement 
from  Leonore)  Yes,  Leonore,  you  may  as  well 
know  I've  saved  money,  I'm  a  thief ! 

Leonore.  Father,  what  is  it? — what  have  you 
done ! 

Robert.  Good.  This  is  a  day  of  reckoning.  We 
might  as  well  settle  all  acounts.  The  account  be- 
tween the  Avenue  and  the  Alley.  We  work  for  you. 
We  give  you  sweat  and  blood.  As  a  reward  you 
ruin  our  daughter  and  pay  for  the  disgrace  with  the 
money  we've  earned  for  you.  That  is  what  you  call 
doing  a  kindness.  I  have  fought  tooth  and  nail  for 
your  business  and  never  asked  pay.  I  have  looked 
up  to  you  as  a  person  looks  up  to  something  holy ! 
You  were  my  faith  and  my  religion  !  And  what  did 
you  do  for  me?  You  stole  the  honor  of  my  house, 
for  it  was  honorable  even  if  it  v.'as  in  the  Alley. 
You  stole  my  heart  and  my  people  and  even  if  they 
were  poor  beggars,  I  love  them  just  the  same.  You 
stole  the  very  pillow  on  which  I  might  rest  when  I 
was  worn  out  working  for  you !  You  stole  my 
home  and  my  trust  in  God  and  man !  You  stole  my 
sense  of  shame,  my  peace,  my  good  conscience! — 
You  have  stolen  the  very  sun  out  of  my  heaven ! — 
You  are  the  thieves — you ! ! 


HONOR.  103 

MuHLiNGK.  (After  a  pause)  Shall  I  have  the 
servants  put  you  out? 

Leonore.  (Stepping  between)  That  you  v^ron't 
do,  Father. 

MuHLiNGK,     What !     You  ? 

Leonore.  He  will  leave  of  his  own  free  will, 
unmolested,  or  Father,  you  can  put  me  out,  too. 

Robert.     Leonore,  what  are  you  doing? 

Leonore.  Haven't  you  a  word  of  apology  for 
him? — not  a  single  word? 

MuHLiNGK.    You  are  mad! 

Robert.  Stop,  Leonore!  I  will  think  of  you 
with — gratitude — as  long  as  I  live.  When  I  leave 
you  I  leave  the  only  thing  that  I  can  call  home — 
God  bless  you !  and  farewell !     (He  goes  to  door) 

Leonore.  (Embracing  him)  Don't  go!  don't 
go ! — or  take  me  with  you ! 

Robert.    Leonore ! 

MuHLiNGK.    What ! ! ! 

Leonore.  Don't  leave  me  alone !  My  soul  is 
frozen  between  these  walls !  You  are  my  home, 
too  !  You  have  always  been !  See,  Fve  thrown  my- 
self into  your  arms ! 

MuHLiNGK.    Oh!  what  a  disgraceful  scene! 

Leonore.  Father  dear,  we  needn't  get  angry 
with  each  other.  I  love  this  man.  For  that  which 
you  have  taken  from  him  I  offer  that  which  I  have. 
(Half  to  Robert)  I  only  have  myself — If  he 
wants  that 

Robert.    Leonore ! 

(Enter  Trast.) 

Trast.    What  has  happened? 

Leonore.  I  thank  you,  my  good  friend,  for 
showing  me  the  right  way.  Robert,  let  us  make  a 
new  home,  new  duties. 

Robert.     (Bitterly,  with  a  look  at  Kurt  who  is 


I04  HONOR. 

sitting  as  though  dumb)  And  a  new  honor!  (He 
takes  her  in  his  arms) 

Frau  Muhlingk.   So  that  is  our  thanks,  Father! 

Leonore.  Father,  Mother,  I  ask  your  forgive- 
ness, but  what  I  am  doing  now  I  must  do !  I  am 
sure  that  it  can't  be  wrong.  But  I  beg  of  you,  think 
kindly  of  me — sometimes. 

Muhlingk.  Ah,  and  you  think  you'll  leave  my 
house  without  my  curse!  {He  lifts  his  arm  as 
though  to  curse  her)     You 

Trast.  {Stepping  up  to  him)  No,  Herr  Coun- 
cillor, what's  the  use  of  wearing  yourself  out  with 
curses?  {Quietly)  and  furthermore,  in  confidence, 
your  daughter  isn't  making  a  bad  match.  The 
young  fellow  will  have  my  station  and,  since  I  have 
no  heirs,  my  fortune. 

Muhlingk.  But,  Count — why  didn't  you  ex- 
plain ! 

Trast.  {Quickly  stepping  hack  and  raising  his 
hand  as  if  to  bless  him)  Please  submit  your  worthy 
blessing  in  writing! 

{Follows  the  two  to  the  door  as 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS.) 


n^TE  HUE 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  949  722    3 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE  LIBRARY 


3  1210  01300  4088 


